A New Age of Kings
by Sibilant Macabre
Summary: My humble offering of events after the book/movie Prince Caspian. Definately AU. During the rebuilding of Narnia, the Tenth King of Telmar is somewhat surprised by an old document found in his uncle's papers and then the adventures begin...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **I'm going to hell, I just know it...BUT. Bang the gongs and sound the trumpets, I'm on my own with this one. Correct, I'm writing this little offering _by myself_. And I'm terrified. You guys don't know how much.

Anyway. /my dramaxangst. I will say this right now: **IF YOU HAVE NOT YET SEEN THE SECOND INSTALLMENT OF THE NARNIA CHRONICLES, DO NOT READ THIS FICTION**. And if you _have_, keep your negative comments to yourself. The movie was very good, and enjoyable to watch.

This is _my_ offering, therefore I will write it as it comes. Granted, I'm known for being a canon-whore of the most righteous persuasion but I'm not about to get into a discussion about interpretations of C.S. Lewis' work, kthx. This is just _my_ take on completely fictious events (canon wise) after the movie. Yes, there are going to be OCs in this story. Deal with it. They're a necessary evil and not all of them are ZOMG!TEHDEVIL.

All right. Bearing all that snark in mind (and forgive me, I'm just tired of trying to justify my own blasted writing to my_self_ and will quit being emo now), here's the story. Humbly offered in the Narnia 'verse, some two years after the ending of the book/movie Prince Caspian. Let the magic take you and enjoy.

* * *

The spring morning was beautiful. The wind playfully teased the new spring leaves, filling the forest with gentle laughter and whispered words of life and newness. The birds sang merrily, their songs sweet and clear in the soft sunshine that flooded the canopy. A few animals darted here and there, going about their daily tasks, but all paused and lifted a wing, paw or otherwise hailed the horse and rider that loped easily through the once-foreboding Narnian forest.

The horse's name was Destrier, and even though he had not the ability to speak, he nevertheless carried his passenger and friend with majestic carriage and grace. For he bore upon his back Caspian, High King of Narnia, Telmar and Emperor of the Lone Islands. The young king had received his crown just two short years before, but already the kingdoms under his rule were beginning to flourish, slowly awakening and recalling their glory long forgotten in legends and myths.

However, all that was far from Caspian's mind this morning. He and his horse were galloping through the woods, and he took care to answer every hail as he passed. These creatures were not just his subjects; many of them were his friends, having stood beside him during the war with his uncle, Miraz. And, although the people of Telmar had been raised to believe that the creatures inhabiting the forest were evil and dangerous, Caspian had firmly dissipated that notion. Slowly but surely, Narnians and Telmarines were learning to live in harmony; more and more Telmarines – mainly the youngsters – were expressing interest in the forest creatures and a few of the Narnians were venturing forth from their woods to broker trade with the citizens of Telmar.

This morning, His Royal Majesty had left the comfort of his Telmarine castle and was riding for the ruins of Cair Paravel. It had become his habit, to leave behind the court of Telmar and journey into Narnia's forest to oversee – and assist – the rebuilding of the once-glorious castle. Shortly after his coronation, King Caspian had decreed that he and his people would once again make Cair Paravel the image of splendor it had been during the reign of the Kings and Queens of old. Most of the Narnians had been enthusiastic about the idea, and, although the people of Telmar were still a bit dubious of the Wood, they nonetheless followed their young King's direction and began the laborious task of rebuilding, hauling rock and quartz from natural quarries nearby.

Caspian and Destrier topped a small rise and he reined in, surveying the land below. The gently rolling hills were lush and green, giving way to the tall trees at the end of the small clearing. A soft giggle made him turn, smiling to see the merry dancing of the wood nymphs. The curious little creatures made entirely of flower petals and grass swirled around the king and his mount, softly brushing against them with child-like wonder.

"Hail, King Caspian," came the soft whisper in his ear.

Caspian watched them, still filled with as much awe and wonder as the first time he'd ever seen such magic, and replied, "Hail, my friends."

"We bid you good morrow," the nymph said, brushing a petaled hand against his cheek then darting away with a sweet giggle.

"And the same to you," he replied with a smile. "I am glad to see you this morning."

The nymph giggled again and swirled around Destrier's nose, causing the black horse to neigh and toss his head playfully. She swirled and played, darting here and there before coming to rest just at Caspian's side, asking, "You ride to the castle this morn?"

The young king nodded. "Aye. To aid in its rebuilding."

Pink and blue petals moved as the nymph bowed her assent. "'Tis well, good king," she approved. "Narnia thanks you for your care."

Caspian felt his cheeks warm, touched by the creature's praise. "Thank you," he replied simply.

She giggled and, with one last brush against his face, swirled back into the trees, disappearing into the boughs, leaving only the fragrance of spring and new flowers lingering on the air.

The king rode on, arriving at the quarry just as the sun rose above the high trees surrounding the canyon. His men were already there working, hauling the massive blocks of quartz and stone atop large wagons and sleds. Present as well were several centaurs, Glenstorm and his sons Ironhoof and Suncloud among them, satyrs, fauns and other non-speaking creatures. Yet all were working side by side and the work was merry, for the Telmarines grunted songs as they labored, accentuated by the stamp of the centaur's hooves and the occasional bark or growl of another hard-working animal.

Caspian halted Destrier at the quarry's entrance, where he was greeted by his captain, Torman. Dark eyed and distinguished, Torman had been a sergeant in Miraz's army, but Caspian had always liked and trusted him, as well as admired his ability to smooth even the roughest tempers and arguments, thus his promotion to this important project, ensuring all went smoothly.

"Sire!" Torman hailed, taking Destrier's bridle as he approached. "Where is your escort?" he immediately demanded.

Caspian laughed as he dismounted, patting Destrier's thick neck affectionately. "Torman, you worry far too much, my friend. I am hardly a child and there is naught to fear in these woods. Can I not ride alone on such a beautiful morning?"

Torman cocked an eyebrow at his youthful king. Although nearly twice the king's age, nearly old enough to be the boy's father, he well remembered the rashness of youth, as well as it's sometimes stupidity. And he could not fault his king for his exuberance. Not soon forgotten was the Lord Protector's "guardianship" of their young liege. Since the death of his father, Caspian had been watched most closely. Torman figured that these bouts of freedom must be exhilarating for the young man. Nevertheless, he and Telfonus, Caspian's closest advisor and friend – who was no doubt racing through Telmar's castle searching for his charge - , would see to it that no harm befell the tenth king of the Telmarines.

The captain sighed. _Well, when he _allows _us to watch over him, that is_, he thought with a shake of his graying head, watching his king throw off his cloak, sword and dagger before sliding down the side of the quarry to join the other soldiers hard at work. It never ceased to amuse the older man that his liege lord and king had no qualms whatsoever about throwing off the royal mantle and working alongside his men, thus earning their respect and comradeship.

As Caspian reached the bottom of the slide, he glanced up and spied the large centaur Glenstorm, standing at the head of a large wagon. Glenstorm lifted a huge hand and Caspian returned the gesture, grinning broadly. He strode towards the centaur's post, speaking to a few of his men along the way.

Glenstorm inclined his head respectfully as the king approached. "Sire," he rumbled.

"Greetings, Honored Glenstorm," Caspian said with a smile.

The centaur snorted, the sound very much like that of a horse, with obvious reason. "No need to affix titles, Caspian," the creature told him. "We need no such distinction." He swept a broad hand at the land around them. "We are defined so by our Mother. And our Father." Glenstorm lifted his hand to the sky.

Caspian lifted his head and closed his eyes, feeling the sun's gentle warmth on his cheek. "Ah, what a freedom, my friend." He grinned up at the large centaur. "Sometimes I'm envious."

Glenstorm chuckled. "We should race again. Perhaps Ironhoof will be lenient."

The dark-haired youth flushed, a bit chagrined. Glenstorm laughed this time, placing a hand on the king's shoulder. "Do not fret so, Caspian. Few horses indeed can outrace the centaurs, so do not feel so burdened."

Grinning, the Narnian King conversed a bit more with the centaur leader and his sons, then set to work with his men, cutting and hauling stone for the recovery of Cair Paravel.

* * *

Four leagues away, beyond the great Narnian river, past the city of Beruna, and on the other side of the Shuddering Woods, in a tall palace of rock and stone, a young man by the name of General Telfonus irritably paced down the hallway, inexorably headed to the quarters of Doctor Professor Cornelius, councilor and tutor to the young King Caspian.

Dark haired and dark eyed – characteristic of all Telmarines – the general was a handsome man in his very late twenties, tall, steadfast and brave. Currently he was serving his king as General of Caspian's Personal Regiment and Senior Advisor to the throne, neither a position to be taken lightly. Genuinely fond of Telmar's young new king, Telfonus took his duties quite seriously, informally "adopting" the tenth Caspian along with the Professor, Captain Torman and a few select others in order to mold and shape the young man into a king remembered far into history.

But _this_ morning…

General Telfonus was in a bit of a snit. He'd woken early, intent on sharing breakfast with his liege lord and king, only to find the brat missing yet again! Voicing a bellow that no doubt startled the scullery maids into knocking over their dish buckets, the annoyed general abruptly raked the members of the king's personal guard over the metaphorical coals, severely berating the officers for their absolute _lack_ of performance.

One of the suitably cowed soldiers chanced to say, "…General…King Caspian _ordered_ us to stay behind, sir." Swallowing hard before his commander's stern eye, he went on, "…for the protection of Telmar Castle, my lord."

To his credit, General Telfonus _hadn't_ thrown a table against the wall; he merely quelled his ire and whirled about, barked orders to his men and stormed for the Professor's chambers. The Doctor's door was open – thankfully, else Telfonus might have walked straight through it – and the General found the Professor comfortably ensconced within.

Doctor Cornelius looked up from his reading as the tall young man strode in. "Ah," he said in greeting, taking his glasses from his nose, "good morning indeed, General Telfonus." A closer glance and Cornelius added, "I take it you've not had breakfast yet, hm?"

"He's gone _again_, Cornelius!" Telfonus burst out, waving his arms and stamping in a circle. "_Why_ does he insist on _tormenting_ me so?! It's my job to keep him _alive_, godsdamnit!"

Telfonus swore vilely for a few more moments, then ran low on steam, straightening his collar and regaining a bit of composure. He eyed the professor speculatively. "I suppose _you _know the whereabouts of our young renegade?"

Cornelius laced his hands over his paunch, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "Indeed," he replied. "Caspian set out quite early this morning for the quarry." He chuckled to Telfonus' barely audible groan. "Now, now. He'll be all right. Torman will keep him out of trouble."

Telfonus growled under his breath. "That's _my _job, Professor," he grumped. "I _can't _protect him if he _insists _on sneaking out while my back is turned." The general dropped into a vacant chair, head propped on his hand. "Sometimes I think he does this just to make me old."

"Quite possibly, Telfonus," the doctor chuckled. "Our young king is still just a boy, you know, more than likely drunk with his new freedom. Caspian will settle down in time. He's done remarkably well as king thus far. Let him have his bouts of rebellion; no harm will come to him in the woods, the Narnians will see to that."

Telfonus grunted reluctant agreement. "Perhaps. Although I have to disagree about the 'boy', Cornelius. Caspian's now twenty; he's more than grown enough."

"Indeed, General," Cornelius replied. "Grown enough to do as he wishes, as well. A cat's-cradle, it seems," he added with a grin.

The general shot the professor a sour look. "Quite." Sighing heavily, he tipped back his head, staring at the high vaulted ceiling. "Perhaps we should just marry him off. That'd settle him down and I'd get some decent sleep at night…"

Cornelius glanced up from his reading at that. "Funny you should mention it, Telfonus," he mused, searching through the clutter on his desk, finally finding a particular piece of parchment and unrolling it. Perching his glasses back atop his nose, he peered at the sheet, lips moving as he went through the words.

"Ah," he said finally, "here it is." He flicked a glance at the general. "It seems that this is a treaty signed by Caspian IX and Archduke Bornen of Archenland."

Telfonus blinked and rose from his seat, coming to read over Cornelius' shoulder. Lips moving as he read, the general's face suddenly paled and he jerked upright, swearing as he all but ran from the professor's study.

"To horse!" Cornelius heard Telfonus bellow. "We must find King Caspian! _Now!_"

Glancing back at the parchment, the rotund professor shook his head and sighed. "Ah, my lad. I fear things are about to change…"

* * *

_And let it be known that, in the presence of these two kings, so are our countries ever tied in bonds of fellowship, which will be brought to the ultimate fruition in the blessed union of our children, the Heir to the Topaz Throne of Telmar in his twentieth year, and a chosen Royal Daughter of the House of Anvard._

Alandra had heard the words a thousand times. Sometimes she fancied those were the only words her elder sister knew. _But you mustn't be snide, Alandra, really. Just because Melissande is perfect and will be queen doesn't mean you may be spiteful._ Those thoughts firmly in mind, the youngest daughter of Archduke Bornen of Archenland sat back in her coach seat, resolved to just gaze over the land as they rode along.

She didn't know how her father had divined that it was _now_ time for her sister to wed the king, but divined it he had, thus she, her father, her elder brother and her elder sister – as well as a few of their retainers and another coach full of servants – had set out from the capital city of Anvard, traveling north to the land of Telmar, the home of the new young king of Telmar and Narnia, Lord of Cair Paravel and Emperor of the Lone Islands. Apparently this Caspian had amassed quite the empire after the battle with his usurping uncle. Or so the rumors had said.

They were quite enough to impress the beautiful Melissande, who had gushed and fawned appropriately. Tristan had been impressed, but for entirely different reasons than land and title. Apparently the spirit-rousing battles had been sufficient enough to endear the new king to the Archduke's nineteen year old heir, for Tristan longed to meet him and hear tales of the fighting.

But it was only Alandra who had been entranced by the tales that the great Narnian forest had come to life once again. More given to study and literature than her siblings, she had long loved tales of the olden days, the golden age of magic and wonder of the High Country. Her tutors had despaired of her voraciousness in devouring the old dusty tomes, nose buried deep in their tales of unicorns, fauns, centaurs and dwarves that roamed freely in Narnia's kingdom. In her earlier youth, she had often fancied herself walking along beside the High Kings and Queens of old, King Peter and Queen Lucy. And Aslan himself, the Great Lion of Ages who guarded all the lands with his mighty roar.

Perhaps she'd be able to walk in the forest, to see the fauns and other speaking creatures that inhabited the lands. Ceremony and propriety she cared little for; the yearning of the stories pulled her, brought her eagerly to the northern lands of Telmar and Narnia.

Her brother's voice brought her from her reverie. "What're you staring at, Landy?" he asked jovially, using her hated nickname.

Rolling her eyes, she replied tartly, "The trees, Tristy." He jigged her with his elbow, earning her swift response, her own elbow in his chest.

"That's enough, both of you," their father spoke up, frowning. Alandra couldn't ever recall seeing him smile. Archduke Bornen's face was hard and lined, almost weathered. His shock of dark blonde hair he'd given his son, as well as the flinty grey eyes. Yet he was a fair man, respected by his people, even if his methods were a bit harsh at times. He felt one had to rule by force to preserve order and was willing to do whatever it took to protect his family and his lands. And, now that there was a new king on the Topaz Throne at Telmar, he was determined to have _that_ loose end tied up and cinched quite nicely.

The archduke's buckle sat next to him, prim and proper in her soft blue traveling gown. Melissande, the archduke's eldest daughter and his pride and joy, was the very portrait of a queen, from the crown of her onyx-gilded head, with thick black curls that fell in artful dishevelment over slim pale shoulders, to her small slippered feet. Thickly lashed vivid blue eyes were delicately set in a perfectly sculpted porcelain face, soft color only high on her cheeks and deep red in her bow-like lips. Every movement she made was exquisite, the very picture of grace and beauty.

Because of this, or perhaps because he wanted her to be the perfect queen, the archduke had indulged her every whim and fancy. Melissande, while otherwise speaking in a gentle modulated voice that men everywhere held their breath to hear, was prone to fits of the most violent rages should her every desire not be met. Her brother and sister had long ago learned how to deal with her temper tantrums, but the archduke looked forward to the day he could hand off his perfect, yet quarrelsome child to the tenth king of Telmar and have a moment's quiet.

"When will we arrive at Telmar, father?" she asked in that rich vibrant voice.

Bornen's lips curved in what might pass for a smile, providing one knew him. "Tomorrow morning, my dear. Early afternoon at the latest."

Alandra, sitting across from her father, was glad to hear it. Normally she enjoyed travelling, but having to be cooped up in the carriage with her family for three days was a trial for anyone's sanity. She longed to be on horseback, riding pell-mell through the woods, carefree and without thought for anything.

Turning back to the window, she sighed. Perhaps in the bustle and hustle of Telmar, she would be able to slip away from her patron's watchful eye and do some exploring of her own. Her brother would accompany her, no doubt. They were very close, being just ten months apart in age – Alandra's nineteenth birthday was just two short months away. Staring out at the passing landscape, she resolved to shut the world out and lose herself in the magic of the stories once again.

_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **There are reviews. Good ones. I may faint. Thank you from the bottom of my starving heart for your kind words and comments. I really appreciate it. May I continue to entertain you from now until forever (or at least until the muses need a vacation).

This installment (I cannot call them chapters, as I'm not really sectioning it off in that format) is a bit longer, but the muse just wouldn't let me stop until I'd reached the end. I hope you bear with. Also, I will not be able to upload any more this weekend, so hopefully this will tide over those who are reading the story. Come the first of next week, I'll hopefully have more to add to my little ficlet here.

The work has not been beta read yet; please pardon any errors you happen to find. I have yet to find a dedicated soul to edit and concrit it. Hopefully one shall appear on the horizon very soon.

Anyway, enjoy, dear readers and I wish you guys the best. Sib.

* * *

It'd been a good day. The King of Narnia was filthy, covered with mud and dust from the top of his head to the toes of his boots, as well as scratched, scraped and bruised, but nevertheless his smile and good cheer remained. Sitting comfortably atop a small boulder at the bottom of Cair Paravel's castle, he ate and drank with his troops and Narnians alike, all laughing and jesting with each other.

Caspian was glad of it. He'd worked hard to ingrain his people together. Although born a Telmarine, Caspian also considered himself now a Narnian, even though he was a Son of Adam. The animals of Narnia, both speaking and non, hailed him as their king, expressing a willingness to accept peace that had both surprised and made leery the people of Telmar. But thanks to Caspian's adamant decree that he _would_ have peace between the realms, those hesitant doors had gradually been opened a mere crack, but now were swung wide and inviting, welcoming both humans and Narnians into a much desired peace.

Plus, he'd given the Telmarines something else do to besides sit around and wonder how it happened. Shortly after his coronation, Caspian had announced that half of his soldiers would be dispatched into the Narnian woods to rebuild the ruins of Cair Paravel. They'd been so surprised they'd had little time to speculate on the nuance, which was just what Caspian had planned. But, to his delight, they'd accepted the task with alacrity, especially when the Narnians came to lend helping hands, paws, wings and whatever else they could. Caspian grinned at the thought. It was much easier to have a team of four centaurs hauling heavy boulders than relying on the backs of a hundred men.

He returned from his musings at Glenstorm's quiet remark. "The evening comes. We have made much progress this day, Caspian."

The young king nodded, swallowing another draught of cool water. "Aye, Glenstorm," he agreed, gazing up at the castle. "Soon we will be able to begin laying the marble for the columns."

While not yet an expert in the fine art of stone-masoning, Caspian had learned much over the past two years. The men he'd appointed to this task were good at their jobs, and had taken him at his word to treat him not as their king, but as a fellow comrade. Cornelius understood, even if Telfonus did not, that the young monarch needed to learn more than could be taught in the study, in the council chamber, or on the battlefield. And Caspian was a willing student. As well as teaching him the ways of the world, the work had toughened him up a bit, gaining callouses on his hands not wrought from swordplay and hardened his muscles and sinews. The professor and Torman approved of this, even if Torman was required to find pique with his liege.

Osclan, one of the foremen, nodded. "Indeed, Sire. The foundations are good and solid. Will be hardly no trouble at all t'get the walls up, not w' the centaurs helping." At the beginning, the burly Telmarine had been dubious about the half-man, half-horse creatures, but he quickly grew to appreciate their strong backs and devotion to anything they undertook. It hadn't taken him long to cement an ironclad friendship with Glenstorm; the two shared a very similar work ethic and had little tolerance for foolishness.

The bearded foreman stroked his chin, staring up at the castle silhouetted against the evening sky. "It will be magnificent when done, Sire. Truly a wonder."

Caspian nodded then sighed, dreaming of the day when Cair Paravel once more stood in splendor atop the cliff. "It will be beautiful…I wish they could see it…"

Talk around the small campfire fell silent at the mention. Of course, Caspian meant the kings and queens of old, High King Peter, King Edmund, Queen Susan and little Queen Lucy. Just two short years had they been gone from Narnia, but Caspian still felt as if they were right beside him sometimes. Peter, with his impetuousness and stubbornness, Edmund, steadfast, brave and fierce. Young Lucy, her pure heart and steadfast faith, and lovely Susan, whom Caspian ofttimes wished might have remained in Narnia. If only they'd had more time together… When he allowed himself to dwell on it, he feared he'd never again feel that familiar tightening in his chest whenever Susan had glanced his way.

But Aslan had sent them home, and although Caspian knew that was the way of things, he still felt a bit lonely sometimes, thinking of them. Despite their differences, they had stood together in battle for the good of Narnia and such was not a bond easily broken. Aslan had called them Kings and Queens of Narnia, a title Caspian sometimes still did not feel worthy to bear. But he'd do his very best, despite whatever odds came along.

Talk resumed slowly around the campfires as the men wound down for the evening. Shortly before full night settled over the forest, the clatter of hooves and the neighing of horses shattered the dusk quiet. Men and animals alike looked up as a group of Telmarine horsemen galloped into the camp, General Telfonus sliding from his lathered mount's back.

Caspian bolted to his feet, concern writ across his face. "Telfonus!" he called, hailing his friend. "What's going on?"

Telfonus nearly slid to a halt before his king. "Sire!" he grated, _so_ wanting to berate his liege for disappearing yet _again_, but other urgent business kept him from doing so. "You must return to Telmar immediately, Your Majesty."

Caspian frowned, worry etching across his forehead. "What's wrong? Surely not an attack!"

Telfonus shook his head. "No, sire. Nothing of that sort. But important business indeed, which requires your urgent attention." He tried to usher the king towards the horses. "Please, my king. I would not have ridden so hard for merely a trifle."

As much as he might hate to admit it, Caspian knew Telfonus was right. Despite the older man's sometimes belligerent friendship, Caspian knew that Telfonus normally kept a calm head on his broad shoulders. Caspian always counted on him to keep his calm, no matter the situation. For him to have ridden directly from Telmar all the way across Narnia bespoke of some urgency indeed.

Firmly making up his mind, he nodded. "Very well, Telfonus. Let us go, then." He bid farewell to Glenstorm, urging the centaur to come to Telmar when he was able, and clasped hands with Torman and Osclan before swinging atop the saddled Destrier and riding into the dusk with his General and guard.

They rode through the night, only stopping at the Narnian River to rest their horses. Caspian finally cornered his general and demanded, "What exactly is going on, Telfonus?"

Pausing before answering, Telfonus took a deep breath then said, "Doctor Cornelius found a copy of your betrothal record, Your Majesty."

Caspian blinked. "My what?"

"A treaty signed by your father and the Archduke of Archenland, Bornen," Telfonus elaborated. "Apparently just after you were born, the two kings decided to cement their peace treaty by binding your families in marriage on your twentieth birthday."

Caspian blinked again, taken more than aback. "…marriage?" he echoed stupidly, making Telfonus roll his eyes slightly and nod.

"Aye, Sire. Your marriage to a royal daughter of Anvard. Which, by rights, _should_ have happened four months ago. Why the Archenlunders haven't yet brought this to light concerns me. No doubt your uncle Miraz would have found a way around the treaty, but the professor has discovered no correspondence otherwise." Telfonus arched an eyebrow. "I doubt your uncle figured you'd live long enough."

The reminder made the king frown. "I see," he finally said. Digesting it a bit more, he finally blew out a breath and plowed a hand through his dark tousled hair. "This is disturbing, Telfonus. I've given no thought to marriage to _anyone_, let alone a princess of the south!"

Telfonus shrugged. "My sympathies, Sire," he replied dryly, "but the document stands, complete with seals from both houses. It must be handled with some care, for we do not want to cause offense if you were to refuse." Eyeing his flustered king a bit, he added delicately, "…actually, it might be of some worth to consider it, my king."

Caspian paused his pacing to level a look at his friend. "What?"

"Think on it, Caspian," Telfonus said seriously. "What harm can come from it? You will have sealed your allies in the southern mountains by a simple ceremony. Far preferable to marching armies and taking it by force."

The king's expression began to fade from confused to desperate, but Telfonus plowed on. "And that is your goal, is it not? Peace in our realm? I cannot think of a faster way to fall back into war than risk a diplomatic offense to another nation. Besides," he added, secretly enjoying the look creeping into his lord's eyes, "the Princess of Anvard is reputed to be a great beauty, according to the merchants and travelers. I cannot imagine it such a horrible fate to have her as a wife."

Caspian felt his ears burning; he didn't doubt his cheeks were flaming hotly. "Telfonus," he said sternly, mustering up as much of his royal dignity as possible, "I have no desire to enter into marriage. At _all_. We will simply deal with this as well as we can, but I am not going to subject myself and another to an arrangement that neither of us probably will ever want. Is that understood, General?"

Recognizing desperation when he saw it, Telfonus bowed out gracefully, obediently inclining his head. "Your will, Majesty. However, we should ride on. The horses are rested enough and we should make it home just by dawn."

* * *

Despite her sister's disdain for quarters anything less than imperial, Alandra enjoyed the warm cozy boarding house just inside Telmar's borders. The house mistress was motherly and kind, seeing to her royal guests' every need. Before departing that morning, Alandra overheard the lady speaking to Melissande, thanking her for their stay. Melissande didn't even pause, merely floated to the door and impatiently waited for Joris to help her into the carriage.

Alandra sighed and glanced at her father, but Bornen just grimaced a bit and paid the house master, giving orders for his retainers to make ready to leave. Exasperated with her entire family, Alandra approached the house mistress and curtsied formally.

"Thank you, good matron, for your kind hospitality. We are grateful for your service," she said with a soft hesitant smile.

The house mistress, a plump robust lady in her middle years, gave the young girl a kind smile and replied in a distinctly Telmarine brogue, "Quite welcome, my lady. 'Tis good to have travelers these days."

Alandra bit her lip, wondering if she should apologize for the lack of manners earlier displayed, but the house mistress chuckled, her dark eyes twinkling.

"Nay, child," she negated, as if reading the girl's thoughts. "I understand. Glad I am that ye saw fit to speak."

The princess smiled, blushing softly. "I should like to visit again, on the way home to Anvard. Perhaps circumstances will be better then."

The Telmarine lady laughed. "Could be, dear child. Could be."

Tristan called from the door and Alandra gave the woman another fond smile before bidding her and her husband farewell, hurrying out to the coach.  
"What was that about?" her brother asked as he helped her settle her long skirts on the floorboards.

She glanced at her father, who met her eyes briefly then looked away to the window. Alandra glanced at her sister, but subliminally knew that was futile; Melissande was staring off into space, no doubt reveling in the imagined throngs of subjects attending her coronation.

Turning back to her brother, she shrugged lightly and answered, "I was simply thanking the lady of the house for her hospitality. After all, coin alone is not always payment enough." She gave her father a hard look at the latter statement, but he refused to acknowledge her. She frowned, a bit nonplussed at his silence. As much as the Archduke demanded respect, she'd never known him to give it easily. She almost felt sympathy for King Caspian, having to deal with this stern old man.

Tristan, acutely aware of his sister's upset, gently nudged her shoulder. "We'll soon be at the castle, Landy," he said softly, offering a soft smile. His voice dropped to a quiet whisper and he squeezed her hand discreetly. "There are Narnians in Telmar now, baby sis. Maybe we'll see a centaur, eh? Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

Alandra turned from her stony examination of the landscape and had to smile at her brother's earnest face. She glanced at their clasped hands and fondly leaned against him for a moment. "That _would_ be wonderful, Trist. Such a sight would make this entire ordeal worthwhile."

She caught her father's warning look but chose not to ignore it, but rather firmly meet it, uncaring of the hard grey eyes that stared into hers of soft green. Alandra wasn't surprised at all when Bornen said a bit sternly, "I will have no more of your impertinence, young lady. You will mind your manners during this state visit, I trust that is quite understood."

It was all Alandra could do not to scoff in her father's face. As it was, she just did manage a barely cordial nod, followed by the stiff, "Yes, Father," before turning back to the window. She felt Tristan's hand tighten a bit in sympathy, but she knew as her father's named heir, there'd be little else he could offer.

The Archenlunders made good time through Telmar; the countryside was mostly flat, unlike the rolling hills and mountains of Archenland. Fording the Telmar River proved exciting, but Joris knew his trade well and guided his horses with an expert hand through the shallows. The family inside the coach remained mostly quiet; Alandra sometimes felt the only thing binding them together was blood.

But she had to admit fascination to the small towns through which they passed. Archenland was a country made up of sporadically placed villages; due to the somewhat inhospitable lay of the land. The people were closely clustered together in the valleys, building high walls around their settlements to keep the elements and enemies away.

Here in Telmar, the land was lush and green, flat open country giving way to the rise of mountains far in the northwestern distance. Some years before, a savage drought and famine had swept across the Telmarine province, rendering entire fields of crops worthless. Livestock and people died off due to lack of food and water, thus leading the Telmarine kings to turn their desperate eyes towards the rich forests of Narnia, conquering and invading in order to keep their people alive.

Now, with Caspian on the throne, Narnia had regained its freedom and the lands of Telmar were once again green and fruitful. Alandra marveled at the drastic difference in their countries, but she thought she might never tire of such a boundless sight.

At mid-morning, the town of Telmar itself came into sight. Dark heads with curious eyes appeared in windows as the four gilded coaches clattered through the cobbled streets. Alandra watched with rising excitement as Telmar Castle rose into view, looming tall and large across the long bridge.

Tristan whistled softly between his teeth, peering out the opposite window as the coach rumbled on. "Wow," he breathed. "It's larger than I thought."

Melissande, facing the back of the coach, glanced at her brother. "Truly? How marvelous. A fitting palace for a queen," she remarked.

Alandra did well to keep her face carefully neutral, but her father said, "Do not be so quick to judge, dear. We've yet to make acquaintance of the new king."

Melissande smiled fondly at the Archduke. "Surely this Caspian is a capable monarch, father. Naught but good has come of his rule, so they say." She gave a small toss of her immaculate curls. "I am sure he will be a fitting husband."

Now, Alandra did roll her eyes, although she was careful to do so out of her father's line of sight. She heard Tristan snicker and could only imagine the retort he was just forced to swallow.

Joris expertly rolled the coach to a halt in the castle courtyard and immediately the bustle began. The footmen decamped the carriage and hustled to put down the steps and open the door for the royal family. Bornen exited first, followed by an exuberant Tristan, stepping away and gazing around in youthful wonder. The lovely Melissande followed, well used to the hush that fell over entire throngs at her initial appearance. And Telmar Castle was no different. All movement ceased as she stepped down from the carriage, dainty white hand resting gently atop her father's. The Telmarine soldiers stared, enraptured.

Last to leave the coach, as always, Alandra wasn't at all surprised that it was Joris who dutifully took her elbow, instead of her father. She smiled at him in thanks and gazed around, staring at the massiveness of the Telmarine palace. Tristan had indeed been correct; the castle was _big_. No doubt built for defense, she thought, noting the long bridge, the lack of any other surrounding buildings and the double archway gates. She looked about, turning in a complete circle, then back to see her father striding towards the stairway, down which a rather portly long-bearded man was hurriedly puffing.

She drifted up beside her brother just in time to hear him exclaim, "Your Grace! We'd not expected you so soon!" At the bottom step he paused, panting in effort to gain his breath. Alandra poked Tristan for his snicker.

Bornen inclined his head formally. "I did indeed receive your messenger, Professor Cornelius. We met your servant just after crossing the Archenland border into Telmar." Bornen arched a cool eyebrow. "Fortunate, indeed."

Professor Cornelius had served a few kings and until two years ago had managed to remain alive under Lord Protector Miraz, one of the most ruthless Telmarines to ever hold power, thus he was far from daunted by the Archduke's implied coolness. He merely inclined his head and replied respectfully, "Nevertheless, Your Grace, we do have quarters ready for your and your family. I have informed His Majesty King Caspian of your impending arrival and he will hold council with you very soon."

The Archduke gave his rendition of a smile, which was merely a crinkling of his eyes and the barest tightening around his stern mouth. gave his rendition of a smile, which was merely a crinkling of his eyes and the barest tightening around his stern mouth. "I see, Professor. And where is your King Caspian? I had hoped to meet him upon our arrival."

Standing demurely beside her brother, Alandra inwardly winced at her father's slight insult. But she was again impressed by the professor's cool return, which he gave just as she became aware of a dull rumbling that quickly became a sharp clattering of hooves as she turned to see several mounted horsemen galloping across the castle bridge, flooding the courtyard. She dimly heard the professor saying, "Ah, here he is now."

The soldiers milled about the courtyard, moving through the assorted Archelunders and Alandra instinctively moved closer to Tristan's shoulder as a dark-haired, stern-faced young man atop a restive black horse shouldered his mount through towards the stairs and the professor.

"I see our guests have arrived, Professor," he said in a distinctly Telmarine accent, swinging down from his horse.

"Indeed. We are honored to have His Grace and his family here at Telmar," the professor replied, respectfully bowing to the Archduke.

The young man turned and offered a proper bow. "Your Grace," he said formally. "Welcome to Telmar."

Alandra stared at him. Hn, this king was much older than she'd been led to believe. And a bit sterner and unbending. She dared a glance at her sister. The expression on Melissande's face was a bit hard to decipher. One moment she seemed a bit taken aback at the first sight of the handsome new king, the next Alandra thought her sister's beatific smile might send any other man screaming in the opposite direction.

She watched her father step forward and execute a smooth bow to the monarch. "Your Royal Majesty," he intoned solemnly. Both the professor and the king blinked, pausing.

"A thousand apologies, Your Grace," the young man said, "I am not His Majesty."

Bornen blinked. As did his children.

"I am General Telfonus, Senior Advisor and head of His Majesty's Personal Guard, Your Grace." He gestured over their heads. "I have the distinct honor to present to Your Grace Caspian the Tenth, King of Telmar, Narnia and Emperor of the Lone Islands."

The Aslunders turned and Alandra received one of the first shocks since she'd left Anvard to see a rather disheveled youth seated atop a beautiful black horse just coming into the courtyard. One of the Telmarines went to take his reins and he dismounted, pulling off mud-crusted riding gloves and walking towards the assembled throng with a confident stride and a cheerful expression.

"Thank you, General," Caspian said, discreetly beating dust from his dirty tunic. "I must apologize for my tardiness, my friends. Narnian business delayed me a bit." He went on to greet the Archduke, who rapidly regained his composure with the swiftness of a skilled diplomat and responded in kind.

As her father and the king exchanged pleasantries, Alandra found she had a hard time taking her eyes off this young king. He was filthy! No monarch in his right _mind_ would _ever _let himself be seen such! Well, she and her brother were exceptions, having come home from horseback riding covered head to toe in leaves, dirt and worse, but for a diplomatic introduction? Her father would have apoplexy. What _had _he been _doing_ to get so dirty?

The rapid questions flitting through her mind were quickly shoved away as she dimly heard her father making the introductions. Alandra jerked back into the present as she heard him present Melissande to the king. Sneaking a glance at her sister, Alandra barely suppressed her giggles at the expression on that porcelain countenance _now_. Melissande looked as if she'd been dealt the shock of her life, to have this bedraggled rag-a-muffin deposited before her and named king. Nevertheless, she curtsied and responded prettily to the introductions, although Alandra noticed she barely let her fingers touch the king's hand, as if afraid to have any sort of contact with such a creature.

Tristan was better; he could well relate, it seemed. He heartily bowed to the king, giving a toothy grin and twinkling eyes as he greeted the Telmarine monarch. Caspian's smile was no less wide; they were of an age and would no doubt get along well together.

Alandra dimly heard her father saying her name as King Caspian turned to her. She automatically lowered her head, as was proper, and dipped into a low curtsey, thankful she didn't topple over. Lifting her head, she quickly flicked away a stray russet curl that had feathered around her shoulder and sneaked a glance up at the king; he was as tall as her brother, gods.

"Welcome to Telmar, my lady," she heard said in a smoothly accented voice and she stared stupidly at Caspian's outstretched hand. Belatedly realizing she was supposed to put hers in it, she finally did so, uncaring of the dirt that covered his palm.

"Thank you, Sire," she whispered as his fingers closed over hers. She unconsciously held her breath for a moment, then he said, "It is an honor to have you in my house."

She flushed, a blush slowly coloring the few small freckles on her cheeks as she lowered her eyes. Alandra felt him lift her hand, then pause, as if he'd suddenly changed his mind. She lowered her hand as he released her fingers and smiled down at her again. Wondering why she was so unusually tongue-tied, Alandra kept silent and inclined her head as he moved back to address her father.

"The professor has quarters prepared for you and your family, Your Grace," Caspian said. "My people will ensure your care, if you will follow me…?" He skipped up the stairs with the professor and his general, the entourage slowly following.

As they moved towards the stairwell, Tristan nudged his little sister, whispering, "What was _that_? I thought you were going to faint there for a moment, Landy."

She shook her head, absently fingering the loose dark red curl. "I have no idea, Tristan. I thought so too." She quirked an eyebrow. "This king is nothing like I expected, I suppose."

Tristan snorted then grinned. "That's the truth there. Still, though. The look on Melissande's face was worth it."

She couldn't help it; she giggled. "Shh! You better mind your manners, brother mine!"

Tristan giggled with her, but Alandra fell silent as they walked through the stone hallways of Telmar, wondering just why indeed she'd felt so odd meeting this King Caspian. He was nothing like she'd expected, that was certainly true. But still, something about him seemed familiar; perhaps the oddness of his speech or the warmth of his hand…she shivered despite herself. Not for the first time did she wonder what awaited her here in this foreign land of magic and legend. Whatever it was, it was sure to change her life forever.

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thanks to all the wonderful readers for your kind reviews and encouragement! They're really appreciated. And I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I have to say I'm enjoying writing it, as well.

I promised to have new chapters to post today, so here we go. Yay for weekends off! This one is a bit shorter than the other two, my apologies beforehand. The story's beginning to streamline itself, which makes it a bit of a challenge to break off into chapters. Nevertheless, enjoy!

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Having a mind to just soak in wonderful warm bathwater and ruminate on previous events, namely those that had just occurred outside in the courtyard, Caspian was a bit chagrined indeed when General Telfonus strode briskly into his chambers, followed by Malcan, Caspian's valet. The king squawked indignantly but they ignored him, moving unerringly to their supposed duties.

Telfonus curtly examined the sword that'd been so casually tossed atop the bed and, seeing the dirt that had accumulated around the hilt and guard, frowned at the hurriedly splashing king.

"I didn't have time to clean it, Telfonus," Caspian retorted quickly, trying to stave off another of Telfonus' lectures. "Something about riding all night long, having to ford the still freezing river in the dead of night, getting two of the horses stuck in the mud at Beruna and coming home to find visitors on my doorstep, then being shoved up to my room like a naughty child."

Malcan, a thin wiry Telmarine who'd served as valet to Caspian's father, had immediately bustled to the royal wardrobe and begun riffling through garments, snorted quietly at the string of excuses. Telfonus glanced at the old man, but said nothing, merely took out a kerchief and began to wipe down the gleaming steel.

"I didn't say anything, Sire," he said calmly.

Caspian eyed him petulantly. "But you wanted to. I know you, Telfonus. No doubt you've been saving up a good tongue-lashing since early yesterday morning, my friend."

The general shrugged, still bent on his work. "Perhaps." He fixed his king with a stern eye. "You could surely use it, Your Majesty."

The king abruptly rose from the copper tub, snatching the offered robe Malcan offered. "I'm not a child, General. You've no need to treat me as one."

"Then cease be_having_ like one!" Telfonus finally burst out, tossing the sword back atop the bed. "You are _King_! Not some common urchin taken to task for skipping his lessons!" Telfonus began to pace, back and forth the length of the room.

"The men in this castle are loyal to your every word, Caspian," he said, pausing to nail the dripping monarch by eye. "They would die for you at a moment's notice. But they cannot protect you if you _insist_ upon haring off alone to the very ends of the earth! Your actions are too rash, too erratic, my king." He took Caspian by the shoulders. "Please, for the sanity of all who serve you unswervingly, _resist_ this impulsiveness! Think of those sworn to your safety. It is they who will pay the penalty should you come to harm!"

Caspian stared at his friend, then sighed and lowered his gaze. "I cannot help it, Telfonus," he replied slowly, moving towards the window and staring out at the land. "I desire more than to merely sit in council and discuss titles and treaties." The king closed his eyes to the breeze's gentle caress. "There is something about Narnia…it calls to me and I am helpless to resist it."

Turning back to his general, he said, "I cannot expect you to understand, Telfonus. But Narnia is a part of me now; I have to answer its call." Seeing the disappointment slowly writing itself in the Telfonus' dark eyes, Caspian placed a hand on his shoulder. "I would have you walk the woods with me, speak with the creatures there. Learn their magic, my friend! Listen to their songs, embrace their ways." He gave his friend a smile. "Then you too will understand."

Telfonus sighed, turning away and picking up the discarded sword once more. "Fanciful dreams, Caspian," he said tiredly. "Magic is a lovely idea, true, but it will not feed your people when they are hungry. It will not stave off the enemy when he comes to bombard your cities. I can only do what I can, my liege, but I will do it until death take me."

Caspian firmly reached out and clasped Telfonus' arm. "Then I pray that day a hundred years from now, Telfonus. For I need your guidance and your friendship."

"As you will, Sire," Telfonus replied, bowing his head solemnly.

Malcan finally spoke up, setting out more clothing. "Come, Majesty. Time to dry off and dress. Our guests are waiting."

Telfonus exited and Caspian began to dress, gently shoving Malcan's helping hands away. He could dress himself, for grief's sake! Finally clad in a rich gold tunic and fitted white breeches, he bent to pull on his boots, asking, "What do you think of our guests, Malcan?"

The old man tilted his head, turning from hanging up the king's dressing robe. "Well, sire, the glimpse I got was fairly brief, but I think I can safely say that the Princess Melissande was somewhat less than thrilled with Your Majesty's somewhat harried entrance." Malcan cocked an eyebrow at Caspian's hidden grin. "However," he went on blandly, "the lady _did_ seem a bit impressed with General Telfonus at the outset."

Straightening his tunic, Caspian stared at his reflection in the mirror, eyebrows furrowing a bit. "Really. That's interesting," he replied absently. The face that looked back at him was familiar, but at the same time not. The same dark hair, parted in the middle and feathering down to broad shoulders, the same night-dark eyes, the right accentuated with a small scar that wound around from the eyebrow, the same nose, same mouth, supple and full, not stern and hard as his uncle's had been. He wasn't any taller, but it seemed so; despite the weight of the crown, Caspian still carried himself straight, head held high no matter what. Outdoor work had thickened him; Malcan had despaired over fitting new clothing but risen to the challenge regardless. Battle had hardened him, friendship had gilded him and loss had tempered him, molding him into a man with greatness of heart yet blessed with the love of his people and a magical wonder not soon shed.

Caspian gazed at his reflection, lost for a moment in the memories. "I am Caspian," he whispered, "and this is my kingdom. I will not dishonor it." Hearing Malcan gently clearing his throat, he plowed fingers through his still-damp hair and shook it from his face; there, ablutions done.

Malcan fetched his lord's sword and dagger; Caspian strapped them both around his hips and snagged his crown before striding for the door.

* * *

Alandra winced as she heard the crash from the next room. Apparently her sister was not in the best of moods. Unsurprising, since Melissande had doubtless expected to be introduced to a great warrior and king, decidedly _not _the Caspian who had greeted them in the courtyard.

Alandra's lady in waiting, a young blond girl named Annis, winced as she continued combing her lady's long red hair, remarking quietly, "Methinks the princess in a bit of a snit, Lady Alandra."

"I don't doubt it in the least, Annis," Alandra answered with a sigh. "I'm afraid she's had quite a shock, and we know how she reacts to those, unfortunately."

Annis stifled a chuckle, continuing with her experimentation of comb and brush. "Shall I curl it for you, dear? It would look very nice with your green and gold gown."

Alandra shrugged. "Do what you will. I care not for fripperies." She snorted, propping her elbows atop the dressing table, chin on her hands. "I simply can't wait until Tristan and I can get _away _from the castle and ride to the forest," she said somewhat wistfully. "Father will no doubt be closeted over business for ages and Melissande will be sulking about, making everyone miserable." She smiled at her maid in the mirror. "The perfect time to be absent."

Annis clucked her tongue. "Best you take care, m'lady. This is not our country. We don't know what dangers await 'round the bends."

"Oh, don't be such a goose, Annis," Alandra chided her gently, rising from the table and moving to the window, leaning over the stone sill. "Just _look _there." Gazing across the flat plain, she said, "Those trees are the beginnings of the Narnian forest, Annis! I've _so _wanted to see it!" Green eyes grew misty as she sighed in longing. "To see if the magic is indeed real, to touch it…to breathe it in deeply."

She spun from the window, twirling in a graceful pirouette as she hummed a melody, girlishly dancing about her room. "Come, Annis!" she said, grabbing her maid's hands and pulling her along. "The magic awaits us just over that plain!"

The two girls laughed together as they whirled and stepped, but Annis finally came to her senses and said, "Lady Alandra, come now. We must finish with you. Your father will be along soon."

With a small pout, Alandra did as requested, straightening her shift and resuming her seat before the mirror as Annis went back to work on her hair, combing and braiding, looping and curling.

Half an hour later, Alandra left her room and spied her brother lounging in the hallway. Tristan too was bathed, combed and dressed in his royal finery. He spied her and grinned, pushing off the wall and approaching with a brotherly bow.

"Annis did well, baby sister," he told her, touching a long wayward curl that drifted over her bare shoulder. He winked at her look. "And 'tis a good thing father made you suffer the dress fitting."

Alandra huffed and tried to swat at him, but he laughed and avoided her swipe. Still, no matter the headaches she'd suffered for this dress, it was still one of her favorites. Deep royal green with golden trim and overlay, the gown fell to her feet in rippling layers of fabric, its sleeves fitted yet leaving her shoulders bare. Small braided designs looped over the bodice, feathering down to her waist.

Instead of swatting at him again, Alandra gave him a toothy smile and curtsied prettily, rising to twirl around, letting the gown float around her. "Thank you, my brother," she addressed him smartly, a twinkle in her eye. "And you actually resemble a royal heir yourself, not some washed-ashore brigand."

"You're too kind, milady," Tristan grinned, straightening and preening a bit himself. Sandy hair actually combed, the prince was clad in pristine black breeches and boots, topped with a gold-trimmed white tunic and blue vest. Ceremonial sword and dagger were belted around his waist and his smile was reflected in bright grey eyes.

Just then, the door to the other chamber opened and Melissande flowed from within, unearthly beautiful. Her thick black hair was elaborately wreathed around her head; a small delicate silver tiara nestled atop the lush curls. Her gown was a stunning confection of ivory and silver; small pearls had been sewed into the bodice and train, creating a subtle whisper as she moved with angelic grace. But her siblings noted the barely perceptible frown between those glorious sky-blue eyes, which always signaled her displeasure.

Tristan, in true brotherly fashion, couldn't help but drawl, "Something the matter, dear sister?"

Alandra winced from the venom inherent in her sister's voice, even one as richly modulated as Melissande's. "If father thinks to marry me off to that…that…_ cretin_, he is sorely mistaken!" The princess snarled, angrily jerking up her chin. "That _boy _doesn't even _begin_ to have the makings of a_ king_, let alone one worthy enough of _my_ hand!"

Well used to her sister's erratic bouts of self-centeredness, Alandra refrained from sighing and rolling her eyes, thankful her brother just laughed it off and extended his arms to his two siblings.

"Come, ladies," he said jovially, "let us go thither and present our gloriousness to the Telmarine court, shall we?"

"Indeed, Tristan," Melissande snapped, savagely taking her brother's offered arm. "It seems we must teach these _barbarians _a few lessons in _manners_."

Now, Alandra did sigh and roll her eyes as she took Tristan's free arm. Somehow she doubted this was not going to go well, no matter what her father's plans for the new Telmarine king.

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **I'm kinda iffy on this chapter. It just came from my brain before I had a chance to examine it. And, since I'm my own worse editor, I just decided to post it and let you guys decide. I know I like the chapter, but I'm just terrible at confidence in my own writing. Forgive me, honored readers.

Nevertheless, thanks for the reviews and such; you guys are awesome. I'm glad folks take time to leave feedback. :) We desperate authors live for it. Enjoy! Sib.

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The professor cleared his throat, giving his king a knowing look

The professor cleared his throat, giving his king a knowing look. Caspian guiltily stopped twirling his crown around in both hands and correctly placed it atop his head. He wasn't very fond of the heavy thing; never mind that it was his duty and right to wear it, it was forever making his head itch and constantly slipping down over either his right eye or his left ear. He firmly dismissed the thought that his father's head must have been quite large. He'd considered having a new one made to correctly fit, but what was the bother? He only wore it when he was in council anyway, and those times were admittedly as few as he could manage.

Telfonus, standing at his right, shifted a bit, placing his hands behind his back. "Do not forget that the Archduke will be testing you, Sire," he told Caspian quietly. They were currently waiting for their guests to arrive in the throne room; why, Caspian had no idea, but apparently it was tradition.

"Oh, I've no doubt of it, Telfonus," Caspian answered back. Sprawled atop his throne, chin on his hand, he refrained from sighing. Granted, this was part of his job, but he'd really wanted to help Glenstorm and Osclan work on the marble columns at Cair Paravel. Still, Caspian figured it was time for the nations to get to know one another, metaphorically speaking. And while Archduke Bornen of Archenland might think him a frivolous boy just come to power, King Caspian of Narnia was determined to disillusion the Archduke of that notion.

He grinned. "I wonder what the old man is _really_ like, under all that political polish."

"It's been said that he and Miraz were of a similar cloth," Telfonus answered delicately, seeing his king's face darken, his brows lower whenever the usurper was mentioned. "However, Sire, I don't mean in the negative ways. The Archduke is reputed to be a strong fair man, but one well used to having his own way. Take that into account, Sire, please." _For all our sakes_, he added silently.

Caspian nodded, straightening on his throne. "Yes, Telfonus," he nodded obediently. He cocked an eye at the professor. "Professor, what do you think?

The old round man coughed a time or two, then replied, "I agree with Telfonus. Best foot forward, and let's not tread on any toes, Sire."

_Did they both think him an idiot? _Caspian stared from one to the other. Sighing disconsolately, he figured they probably did, still seeing him as the teenager who'd taken the crown two years ago, blundering ignorantly through protocol and station. Well, he was a man grown and he'd handle things well, oh yes.

A few of the other Telmarine lords began to enter the throne room, all approaching the king and bowing before taking their seats. More than a few of the chairs remained empty; several of the lords were busy working on their own lands, which was right and proper to the king's mind. Yet those closest to the castle had been intrigued by their state visitors, thus their presence today.

The herald finally cleared his throat meaningfully, bowing before announcing with royal aplomb, "Your Royal Majesty, my Lords of the Council, I present His Grace, Bornen, the Archduke of Archenland!" The heavy door swung open and the Archenlunders entered with stately ceremony, Princess Melissande radiant on her father's arm, with Tristan and Alandra following some steps behind.

Although it wasn't protocol – the King of Narnia paid homage to none but the Great Lion himself – Caspian rose from his throne as the Archduke approached the dais and bowed to the elder man. He didn't miss the collective noises of surprise from his own men, but he was determined to set his own rules. Straightening, he stared coolly down at Bornen until the surprise wore off the man's face and he, too, bowed regally, forcing his children to follow suit.

Taking station once more upon his throne, Caspian said formally, "Welcome, honored guests, to Telmar. Our house is blessed with your presence." If the duke wanted formal, Caspian would give him formal. If not, all the better.

Bornen was indeed taken a bit aback by this youth seated upon the Topaz Throne. While seemingly no older than his own son Tristan, there was something about this king, something he couldn't rightly put his finger upon. He'd known and been good friends with Caspian's father, the ninth king of Telmar. Yet after his death and the king's brother Miraz began amassing power, Bornen had wisely kept his distance, a nuance he was beginning to wonder if he should regret. Perhaps this would be easier had he been a bit more forceful…ah, well.

Nevertheless, he could see for himself that Telmar was no long the wasted land it had been after Miraz came to power. With the rightful king on the throne, the land and people were flourishing. Now, Bornen just had to ensure that his foothold on this country would remain safe and secure. He squared his shoulders, determined to get right to the issue.

"Your Royal Majesty," he intoned solemnly, "I thank you for your gracious welcome and chagrined I am indeed, to arrive seemingly without proper notice. Perhaps it was the grief which has been gnawing at my soul these long years, in absence of your great father. I knew him well, and mourned him."

He paused, the silence loud.

Plowing on, he continued, "However, I have indeed come to Telmar in friendship, hoping to rebuild the ties between our countries, honored all these years in peace. For peace is our mother, she keeps us thriving, reaching to the stars for the good of all. Thus, in fulfillment of the promise given twenty years ago, in this very room, do I present my daughter, Princess Melissande of the House of Anvard, Jewel of all Archenland."

Releasing his daughter's hand, he stepped back and let her curtsy low before the king. Bornen took a very deep breath, glancing at Caspian. Hn, the lad looked as if he wanted to sink into the very stone and disappear. The Archduke stifled a chuckle. He could well relate; it wasn't every single day that foreign strangers appeared on the doorstep with a wife in tow.

Bornen had it all wrong. Caspian was on the verge of bolting to his feet and running for his life. But diplomatic courtesy had him nailed on the throne and he kept his expression firmly blank as the Princess dipped low before him, forcing himself to respond with a deep incline of his head.

Before he could answer the Archduke, the Princess rose and addressed him directly. "I thank you, Sire, for the honor to present myself to you in pledge of our father's friendship." Every male in the room unconsciously held his breath in wake of that ethereal voice. As if well aware of her effect, the Princess blushed prettily and demurely lowered her lashes.

Only Telfonus and Cornelius heard Caspian gulp, but he kept his composure, rising from his throne and addressing the Archduke with, "Your Grace, perhaps we should further examine the details of the documentation before any sort of decision is made concerning our two countries. Doubtless things have changed in Archenland since my father's time and I know you'd be interested in recent Telmarine and Narnian developments, as well."

Ha, he'd thought that'd fetch the old man. Bornen's eyes tightened just a fraction and he minutely inclined his head. A glance at Telfonus revealed the general's own slight smile. Apparently he'd done well in diverting the initial issue. For the moment.

"If you will, Your Grace," Caspian invited, gesturing to a side door. Bornen nodded, spoke a word to his son and regally preceded the king, who was in turn followed by the rotund Professor and the handsome stern General.

So, now they were undoubtedly to mingle. Alandra wasn't surprised. She'd not for once imagined that her father and this Caspian were going to haggle over political matters in front of everyone. No, their shouting and blustering would be done behind closed doors, it seemed. Although, why hadn't her father summoned Tristan as well?

A glance around gave her the answer. Every Telmarine in the throne room was staring at her sister. Melissande, completely aware of her audience, swept across the gilded floors, pretending interest in a random decoration or two. Tristan, acutely tuned to the nuance, stepped up beside her, saying, "Come, Melissande, let us retire. Father will be ensconced for a while and it's been such a long journey."

After suffering through Melissande's regal exit – in which she had to thank every single Telmarine lord by name for allowing her presence here at Telmar – Alandra hung back as her brother and sister moved back to their suites. It only took her five minutes to get completely lost. But she didn't mind; she actually preferred it that way.

A few twists and turns, one flight of steps and an adjoining corridor later deposited her before a half-opened door. Peeking inside, she spied a veritable wealth of books, scrolls and papers somewhat tidily strewn about. She knocked hesitantly, but no answer had her gently slipping inside, idly wondering if this might be the library. It certainly seemed possible, judging from the three cluttered desks shoved against the walls.

But the rumpled cot, bureau and wardrobe dissuaded that notion. Belatedly she realized this was someone's room, quite probably the Professor. She turned to leave, but a flicker of pale white caught her eye and she paused. There upon the desk was an ivory horn. The mouth was carved in the shape of a roaring lion. Alandra approached the desk carefully, reaching out a tentative hand to brush trembling fingers against the smooth surface.

_It can't be_…kept flitting over and over in her mind. _It's just a myth…a legend…it's not _really_ possible…_ But somewhere deep inside she knew it was indeed possible, the same part of her secret soul that believed in the Deep Magic, believed that the fauns and satyrs danced 'neath the twinkling stars.

Unable to help herself, Alandra picked up the horn, marveling at its beauty. _Queen Susan's horn…_ The legends had spoken of the magical horn, it possessing the power to call back the old Kings and Queens of Narnia in times of utmost need. Two years ago, then-Prince Caspian supposedly sounded its call, returning the four monarchs of old, they leading the Narnians against his usurper uncle, Miraz, gaining Narnia's freedom and his throne.

Alandra's shaking knees made her sit down in the empty chair, shaking hands reverently lowering the precious artifact and she took a deep breath. _All true…it's all true…_ She desperately wanted to believe it. Looking past the horn to the manuscript beneath, she recognized the writing as tales of the old queens and kings, stories she herself had read since she'd been able to understand her letters.

She picked up the book, carefully thumbing through the parchment sheets and smiled as she realized that she held a book of legends in her hands. Ahh, _this_ was wonderful indeed. Alandra quite promptly forgot where she was and, book on her lap, settled down and began reading, losing herself in the stories.

Nearly two hours later, well into deep afternoon, she was just coming to the last tale of the second book she'd discovered, then started out of her reverie as footsteps began growing closer and voices drifted down the hallway. Petrified of discovery, she leapt to her feet, nearly knocking the papers off the desk behind which she'd been sitting and inwardly wailed to realize there was no other way out save the door.

Quickly making a lightning decision, she hurried to the spacious wardrobe, yanked open the doors and discovered to her delight that it was only half full of clothing. Nearly diving inside, she pulled her skirts in and swung the door closed, it pausing just short of latching, allowing her a thin line through which to see. Her breath hitched as she first heard then saw Professor Cornelius enter the room, followed by King Caspian himself.

"You were correct, Professor," the king was saying. "Bornen's quite slippery, indeed."

Alandra heard the professor chuckle. "Aye, but you did well, Caspian. I'm quite proud of you, m'boy." He moved in front of the wardrobe for a moment, blocking her line of sight. She heard the ruffling of papers, followed by the scrape of furniture, which proved to be Caspian flopping down in the chair across from the desk, one booted foot hooked over its arm, swinging. Alandra blinked to see him absently flipping his crown over and over in both hands, as well. What a _strange _king he was!

But her attention was jerked back to their conversation as she heard him say with a heavy sigh, "Professor, I cannot marry the princess. No matter the insult it delivers. I simply cannot." He shook his head, staring at the floor. "Perhaps if my father had lived, and I'd had time to adjust to the idea, to get to know her…" Another forlorn sigh. "No. I am hardly my father's puppet, to be jerked by his strings even from beyond. I have to make my own decisions, Professor, for the good of my people and myself."

Alandra heard the professor chuckle, followed by the creaking of his chair – the very one in which she'd been so comfortably curled before – then reply, "About time that you realized it, my liege." The scent of cloves flooded the room as the doctor lit his pipe and took a deep puff. "I understand your reluctance, Caspian. I cannot say I approve of this betrothal, for I believe every man and woman has the right to choose their own, but it _is _a legally binding document."

She stifled a gasp of surprise as Caspian suddenly frowned and bolted to his feet, pacing irritably across the room, out of her sight. "So I am to mold myself to my dead father's whims, Professor?" he demanded. "Whether or not it is my own choice? I don't even _know_ this woman! How am I to love her, cherish her, honor her as the poets prattle?" Alandra heard his disgruntled snort. "Judging from her reaction earlier in the courtyard, the princess would rather be handed off to a beet farmer than me."

Alandra couldn't help it, she giggled. Covering her mouth too late, she bit her lip as the professor rose from his chair, eyes a bit wide. Then the wardrobe door flew open and Alandra nearly tumbled out on her nose, only to be caught by strong hands that set her upright again.

A startled oath met her ears and her gaze flew up to meet that of a rather puzzled and annoyed king, if the lines between his brows were any indication. She was about to stammer profuse apologies just as his mouth opened, no doubt to deliver some scathing denouncement, but it was the professor who stopped them both by saying, "Well, now. Welcome, Your Highness." He chuckled. "While not expecting such a visitation, I am nonetheless delighted to have you. But, why did you feel the need to hide?" One of his eyebrows lifted. "And in the wardrobe, no less."

Alandra glanced over at him but saw no hostility on his kind, open face. It gave her a bit of courage, enough to pull her arms from the king's grip, resolutely smoothing her skirts before turning to face the professor.

"I apologize, good Professor Cornelius. While returning to my rooms, I fear I became a bit disoriented and found my way to your quarters. I didn't mean to pry; the door was open and I'd hoped someone would be within to guide me back." She gestured to his desk, the books and papers. "I discovered your book of tales and, after reading a bit, simply lost track of the time." She didn't even glance at Caspian as she finished, hands folded demurely before her, "I heard you approaching and feared the worst, thus my ill-advised hiding. Please forgive me."

Dipping into a curtsey, she lowered her head to hide her flaming cheeks then turned to flee, but the king's voice halted her. "Wait."

Frozen in mid-step, Alandra slowly turned and met Caspian's dark eyes, seeing them narrow a fraction, then crinkle in what seemed to be puzzlement. "You were…reading the stories?" he asked slowly, as if in disbelief.

Her chin lifted just a fraction. "Yes. Your Majesty," she remembered to add.

Apparently she now had his undivided attention; even his annoyance at her eavesdropping had seemingly disappeared. He closed the wardrobe door and took a step closer to her and the desk. "You…know of Narnia?"

Alandra tilted her head just a bit. "Yes…of course, Sire." Why would he think otherwise? "I've read the tales since childhood, Majesty."

If he'd been surprised to find her tumbling out of the professor's closet before, Caspian was _completely_ flummoxed now. …how could she know of Narnia? _Why_ would she know, for that matter? This princess was an Archenlunder; they'd had no direct contact with the northern countries for nearly twenty years.

Finally becoming aware that both the princess and the professor were staring at him, the former with wide blinking eyes and the latter with a decidedly amused countenance – he didn't fully trust the twinkle in the doctor's eye - , Caspian abruptly closed his mouth and shook his head slightly.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself saying. "It's just surprising. That a princess from the south would know the tales and stories."

She returned his quizzical look, asking, "Why is that? The Telmarines aren't the only ones with an interest in such things, Your Majesty." Moving over to the professor's desk, she picked up the thick tome. "We've books such as these in our library, too." The princess gave them a tentative smile. "I've spent many hours buried between their covers, devouring the old tales."

Caspian saw her fingers brush over Queen Susan's horn. Slowly, as if she feared they might snatch it from her hands, she carefully lifted it, adding, "Until I saw the horn, I wasn't truly sure I believed it." A slow smile curved lips and the king suddenly found himself the sole recipient of a bright wide gaze. "But it's true, isn't it?" she asked breathlessly. "It's all true…"

"It is," he nodded back. "The magic has indeed returned to Narnia."

Had he known her better, Caspian might have understood the tears that suddenly flooded the princess's eyes. Suddenly concerned, he started forward, but she lifted her head with a small laugh, wiping them away with one slim hand.

"No, Sire," she said with a small sad chuckle. "It's just that I've _dreamed_ of it. Dreamed of it my entire life. Everyone else said they were only stories, just crazy tales of ages long past." She gently cradled the ivory horn. "Yet somehow I knew it wasn't merely legend. I don't know _how_ I knew, but I did."

The professor spoke up as she gently returned the magical horn to his desk, saying, "Indeed, child. The Narnians are very real, a magical and wonderful people." His kind eyes twinkled a bit as he grinned. "I myself have a bit of Narnia in me, as well."

Caspian grinned, well recalling the time when his teacher first confessed his mixed blood. He couldn't help but smile at the princess's eager expression, crossing his arms and leaning a hip against the professor's desk.

"The good doctor Cornelius has dwarven heritage, m'lady," he told her, seeing her eyes widen yet again.

"Really?" Lady Alandra asked breathlessly.

Cornelius nodded. "Indeed, Your Highness. My mother was a black dwarf from the Northern Hills, far beyond the Shuddering Woods and the Northern Marshes."

Alandra dropped down in the chair Caspian had recently vacated as Cornelius smiled in return and began to tell the tale, staring at the professor in much the same manner as had the king when he'd first discovered such a truth.

Caspian watched this young princess, wondering _why_ she seemed so familiar – he'd certainly never met her before. But, just hours ago in the courtyard, when he'd first heard her name and touched her hand, wondering how he could have possibly known her before her father had spoken, the feeling of familiarity, of _sameness_, was strong, strong enough to make him wonder. He could only compare it to the tingle of magic thick in the air; sending ripples outward from its source, save these little quivers were somehow _under_ his skin.

The professor came to the end of his little story a few minutes later, leaving the princess to stare at him in rapt wonder and it finally dawned on Caspian. _She's hungry. Starving, in fact. Much the same as I was then. Longing to see, to touch, to believe. Yes, I know it now...I know it well. _

Apparently royal protocol chose that moment to return to the princess, for she suddenly flushed and hastily stood, smoothing her skirts again. "Forgive me," she said demurely, lowering her head with a soft curtsy. "I don't mean to appear as some bothersome starry-eyed child."

The professor chuckled as Caspian straightened from his lounge. "Not at all, dear child. Glad I am of such hunger for knowledge. Indeed, my greatest student held that same title in his early years."

Caspian felt his cheeks heat at that, accentuated by the princess's soft giggle. "Yes," he said somewhat belatedly. "And my teacher was ever fond of pulling me from a warm bed in the deep night to memorize the stars' patterns across the skies."

"And well you learned them indeed," the professor chortled, winking at Alandra. She hid her grin behind her fingers; Caspian managed not to glower at them both.

But she respectfully nodded to the professor then gave a deep courtesy to Caspian. "I feel I should take my leave, Sire, Professor," she told them. "My family will be wondering about me." Caspian heard her add, "Supposedly," under her breath.

Returning her curtsy with a deep nod of his head, Caspian offered – for some reason unable to meet the professor's eye - , "If you like, my lady, I will show you the way to your rooms."

She began to protest, but he negated with, "Please, it is no trouble at all. The castle _is_ quite large and it's easy to become disoriented until you're more familiar with the corridors." Caspian closed his mouth, suddenly feeling a bit foolish and not knowing why.

But the princess smiled at him somewhat gratefully then Cornelius said with a rumbling cough, "Yes, run along, you young ones. Leave this old man to his quiet and studies."

Thus summarily dismissed, Caspian properly bowed the Lady Alandra before him, they leaving the professor's quarters and emerging in the large stone hallway. The king gestured to his left, indicating her to precede him.

"Your Highness," he grinned as she swept by.

Caspian caught her arch little look, belied by the smile hovering over her lips. "Your Majesty," she replied blandly, pausing just enough so that they walked side by side. The soldiers in the hallways bowed formally as they passed and both Caspian and Alandra remained silent as he led her through the castle.

Truthfully, Caspian was mulling over a few things. Primarily, the princess had heard his rantings to the professor. He wondered if she'd mention them to her father. He sincerely hoped she wouldn't… Should he ask?

They rounded a corner but before he could open his mouth to do just that, he blinked to hear her sudden gasp. They'd briefly left the shelter of the archways and emerged onto a small balcony overlooking the Telmarine plain, with the Narnian forests rising deep and green in the distance.

Alandra rushed to the balustrade, placing both hands atop the stone. Caspian joined her, seeing yet again that same yearning on the princess's young face.

"The Shuddering Wood just beyond the city of Beruna," he said quietly, indicating the treeline. "That is where Narnia truly begins, my lady."

"It's there," she breathed. "Just within reach." Her brow crimped. "Oh, how I've _longed _for it!"

Caspian leaned on one elbow, turning to face her. "It's truly a beautiful place." Flicking a small stray pebble over the balustrade, he added somewhat shyly, "…I'd be honored to take you there, Lady Alandra."

She turned to face him and Caspian quickly straightened and amended, "Uh…t-that is, if you'd care to go, Your Highness." Faltering a bit under her wide-eyed stare, the young king blinked and bit the inside of his lower lip, adding, "Perhaps your brother and sister could accompany us, as well."

Alandra laughed softly, leaving Caspian to wonder _why_ he suddenly sounded like a tongue-tied idiot. But he was thankful for her smile, after which she replied, "A wonderful notion, Sire. I can't tell you how delighted I'd be to see Narnia."

She clasped her fingers together, once again staring out over the landscape. "Tristan would love it, I'm sure. Melissande…" she made a rue face, "…more than likely not. I will ask, however."

Caspian took a deep breath as she turned away from the balcony and they resumed their trek back across the castle to the guest quarters. "And here we are, Your Highness," he said as they finally turned down the familiar corridor. She paused before the second set of doors and slowly turned.

Her lips crimped once before she looked up at him and said, "You know, you really don't have to continue with the formalities, if you'd otherwise rather, Sire. My name is Alandra." Caspian saw her cheeks flush becomingly as she added, "I'd prefer you to use simply that."

Caspian couldn't help it; he smiled. "Of course. And I am Caspian," he replied quietly, tilting his head forward in acknowledgement. This time, he didn't hesitate. The king took the princess's slender hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against warm skin.

He didn't miss her soft intake of breath but simply released her with a soft smile, dark eyes bright. "Until tomorrow, Alandra," he said gently, liking the feel of her name rolling from his tongue.

She didn't answer for a moment, then slowly nodded with a shy smile, lowering her hand back to the door handle. "Yes…Caspian," Alandra replied. "Until then."

He stepped back to let her open the door to her chambers and paused as she slipped inside, giving her another nod as she smiled and closed the door. Turning around, Caspian strode for his own wing of the castle, wondering how much trouble he was going to get into on the morrow. True, the Archduke would probably want to corner him yet _again _and try to foist off his ridiculous treaty, but a royal invitation to see the countryside of Telmar and Narnia would undoubtedly thwart the old man for a while, thus giving the king more time to find a way _out_ of this miserable situation.

Just then, he paused, eyes widening then narrowing in speculation. A thought was brewing in the back of his mind, but he definitely needed to speak with the professor and Telfonus about it before he did anything rash. Still, the more he thought on it, the better it seemed. For all involved. Grinning, Caspian took the stairs to his quarters two at a time, finally breaking into a bout of laughter as he stepped into his rooms.

Shaking his head at himself, the king tossed off sword and dagger, idly recalling he'd left his crown in Cornelius' chambers. He went to the window, gazing out over the lush green countryside. Yes, things were most decidedly going to change. Telfonus would doubtless have an apoplectic fit when Caspian put forth his thoughts for a solution, but somehow, the king just couldn't bring himself to care.

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Allergies have finally sunk their claws in deep. It's an effort to breathe, let me tell you. Apologies for not having the chapter done earlier. And I beg forgiveness, since the meds make me a bit loopy.

Still, thanks for the great comments and reviews. You guys are so awesome. Luvs, Sib.

* * *

The following morning saw Alandra skipping down the stairs to the courtyard, already dressed in a soft gray riding gown

The following morning saw Alandra skipping down the stairs to the courtyard, already dressed in a soft gray riding gown. She hadn't slept much the previous night, nor had she bothered with fripperies; she'd simply pinned her disheveled curls back from her face and departed without even waking her maid. All the night long, her mind had been top-filled with thoughts of the Narnian Woods and, strangely enough, a dark-haired king with a warm smile and alluring brogue.

Nevertheless, she arrived forthwith at the royal stables, impressed at the horseflesh displayed for their use. The familiar black charger stamped impatiently, his gilded harness jingling with his restiveness. Alandra couldn't help herself; her hands were immediately drawn to the thick black mane, stroking and petting as the animal nickered softly and butted at her with his large head.

"'At be the king's horse, Destrier," one of the grooms said with a nod, patting the thick black neck. "He's spoilt, he is, but a fine animal indeed."

Alandra giggled as Destrier nuzzled at her hair, softly butting his nose against her. "He's beautiful," she agreed, stroking the smooth black hide. "I can see how he would be fit for a king." She smiled at him and three minutes later knew that his name was Donnon and he was the king's premier groomsman, with a wonderful wife and three little children at home.

Spying the other equine, a large bay gelding with four white feet and a wide blaze down his face, she reached out a hand to pet him and he nibbled at her fingers, prompting her girlish giggle.

"He's perfect!" she grinned, taking the reins from a blinking stable boy. "What's his name?"

The boy looked at Donnon, then back at the princess. "Uh…Charger, m'lady."

"Charger," she crooned, petting the velvety nose. "How fitting." She moved around to the other side and put her foot in the stirrup, ignoring the stable boys' protestations as she settled comfortably in the saddle.

Donnon stared at her, half expecting the animal to toss her off. Charger wasn't known for his amiableness. He did lay back his ears and stomp his front feet, but Alandra spoke to him a tad sharply, tightening her hands on his reins and he calmed, whuffling a snort.

Across the courtyard, Tristan laughed as he waited with the king. Both were dressed for the outdoors; plain white tunics, leather vests with breeches and riding boots, along with plain blades and daggers.

"That's my sister for you," he said with a grin. "We've been riding since we could walk, lads. No cause for worry." He pushed off the column and sauntered over, grinning to the faces of the Telmarines. "What've you given me to ride, eh?"

Donnon scratched his head and turned around just as the other groom came out of the stable with a beautiful dainty white mare, outfitted with sidesaddle and gilded bridle. From her perch atop Charger's high back, Alandra grinned.

"Goodness, Tristan, what a perfect fit," she remarked, giggling to his sour look. He followed Donnon into the stable and Alandra smirked to herself as Caspian approached her and her mount.

"Impressive," he drolled with a grin, placing one hand on Charger's bridle. "And good morning, Alandra," he said quietly.

Her smile was gentle, soft, as she replied, "Thank you, Caspian. Good morning to you, as well."

"Did you sleep well?" the king inquired.

Alandra shook her head. "Not a wink, Sire." At his concerned look, she gave a small peal of laughter and reassured him, "Not out of any uncomfortableness, Caspian. I was simply too excited to sleep! We're going to Narnia, as I've always dreamed!"

Caspian chuckled with her, discreetly squeezing her hand as Tristan and Donnon reappeared, this time with a more serviceable mount for the duke's heir. The stallion was snowy white and massive; he snorted irritably and twitched his tail, as if just itching for an altercation

"Gavriel," she heard Caspian say with a note of surprise in his voice. "You're a brave man, Highness. That beast once belonged to my uncle." One of his eyebrows arched sardonically. "I have to say they were perfectly suited for each other."

Tristan grinned. "Wonderful. A challenge." He stuck a foot in the stirrup, which the horse promptly jerked out from under him. Alandra stifled her laugh as Tristan lost his balance and went to his knees, nearly smacking his nose on the horse's leg. He grumbled a bit, but nevertheless tried again, this time with the help of Donnon and the other lads and managed to get aboard. It took a bit, but eventually Gavriel realized that he wouldn't be able to dislodge the human atop his back so easily. The horse snorted in supposed defeat, but his tensed muscles promised further attempts at a later time.

Alandra hid her grin but the king's was wide as he swung atop his own black mount. "Donnon," he gently instructed, "don't let Telfonus break _all_ the furniture."

She caught sight of Donnon's face as he ingested his king's order, then she saw comprehension dawn. "Oh, _Sire,_" the groom said disappointedly.

Caspian grinned and nudged Destrier with his heels, indicating Alandra and Tristan to follow. The groom watched them ride out of the courtyard and across the bridge, wondering how long it would take Telfonus to realize his liege lord and king had once again departed the castle without informing his councilors. Donnon also wondered if he should immediately vacate the vicinity once the General did.

The three royal personages rode at a brisk trot through the cobbled streets of Telmar, finally emerging on the grassy plain beyond the city. Caspian reined in, turning to speak to his guests, but he blinked as Alandra threw back her head and laughed, then kicked her heels against Charger's flanks and galloped past, leaving the men to stare after in puzzlement.

Tristan shrugged. "She's a woman, what can I say?"

The king chuckled, shaking his head. "That's certainly true, my friend." He watched the princess for a moment, then said, "Well, let's go before she loses us completely." Destrier and Gavriel shot forward as their riders sent them into a ground-eating gallop, tearing chunks of earth from beneath the steel-shod hooves.

Alandra heard the rumble behind her, thus she eased back on Charger's reins and slowed the galloping gelding to allow the others to catch up. Caspian drew alongside first and she shot him a grin, earning his in return.

"Anxious, are we?" he called over the pounding hooves.

She laughed, shaking a stray lock of hair from her face. "Wouldn't you be, Sire?"

Caspian laughed with her and the three of them galloped on, turning it into a sort of informal race across the plain.

Once they reached the trees, Caspian reined in, motioning the Tristan and Alandra to do the same. "The paths are still wild, so it's best to take care at first." He turned Destrier and entered the trees, Tristan following.

Alandra sat atop Charger for a moment, staring up at the forest. It was real. Right before her very eyes. Containing her quivering excitement, she nudged Charger with her knees and he obediently trotted forward, heading into the woods without fear.

They rode for perhaps an hour, finally emerging from the woods onto a flat streambed, covered in small white rocks and shells. Riding beside Alandra, Caspian said, "The Narnian River, just ahead. The fords are somewhat shallow here, so we'll be able to cross."

He eased Destrier into a canter and the others followed, only slowing when they approached the swiftly flowing water. Peering around a bit, Caspian finally decided where to cross and legged his horse forward, the experienced equine plowing surefootedly through the water. Tristan motioned his sister before him and she nodded, expertly easing Charger in Destrier's wake. The river rose higher and higher, covering the horse's knees and Alandra's breath caught as the _cold _water soaked her boots and lower part of her skirt. She looked ahead and saw that Caspian too was nearly knee deep in the middle of the river. But such was a small price for the reward, and besides, they'd dry.

Amid much splashing, the three finally made it across the river and there Caspian paused. He glanced across at Alandra, who was staring at the forest with such longing it touched his heart. He saw her white-knuckled hands firmly clasping Charger's reins and had to smile. "Steady, my lady," he said gently, earning her grateful smile.

Tristan joined them on the bank, muttering darkly about the state of his boots. "I've only had these for _two weeks_, Alandra," he complained, shaking first one leg then the other. "I hope your little jaunt'll be worth it, baby sister."

She didn't turn in her saddle, merely kept her eyes on the forest and said quietly, "It will be, Tristan. You'll see. It will be wonderful. I just know it." Tristan gave her a brotherly look, but didn't comment as he finished shaking the water from his boots.

Caspian watched Alandra closely as they rode to the trees. He couldn't help noticing the expression on her pale face; it was a mix of rapt wonder and just a little bit of trepidation. Nevertheless, she didn't falter, even kept going when he pulled Destrier to a halt and waited for Tristan.

Alandra didn't notice; she was too caught up in the soft singing echoing from the woods. It was soft, clear and sweet, calling gently to those receptive to its music. She doubted her brother could hear it, but she knew Caspian heard, for wasn't he too a part of Narnia?

Charger flicked his ears and snorted, stepping from the shell-lined riverbank into the lush undergrowth of the forest. Alandra's eyes closed and she took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of earth and loam, of new spring flowers and leaves, of _magic_. The horse walked on, winding his way through the trees and foliage and Alandra looked around, sure she'd heard a giggle somewhere to the left. But nothing caught her eye thus she turned back and continued on.

Although she didn't know where she was going, Charger seemed to have no problem navigating the forest, so the princess simply let him decide, picking out the easiest footing along the nearly imperceptible path. Caspian and Tristan followed behind, the king completely at home in the forest and the duke's heir gazing around much like his sister, wondering where that odd noise was coming from.

They rode until they came to a small clearing, where Caspian dismounted and motioned the others to do the same. He and Tristan both automatically approached Alandra to help her dismount; the two men paused, blinked at each other but it was the king that flushed and stepped away with a flustered half-smile.

Tristan shook his head with a grin and reached up to take his sister's elbow, helping her down from her tall mount. He leaned down to whisper, "Are you really sure about this, Landy?"

She gave him a dark look for the use of the silly nickname, but nodded nonetheless. "Of course, Tristy." She looked ahead, seeing the king a few paces hence, silhouetted against the backdrop of the lush green. "I can think of no place I'd rather be, actually." Giving him a beatific smile, she picked up her skirts and hustled to join Caspian, leaving Tristan to stare after her in befuddled puzzlement, wondering not for the first time if his father had made the right choice.

Caspian was waiting for them, and the three left the horses to graze contentedly and they walked further into the small clearing, all hearing the gentle song of the trees as they sang to themselves, music of ages past and life yet to come.

Gazing around in wonder, Alandra couldn't help the smile that lit her entire face. "I can hear them," she whispered. "I can hear their song!" She paused to lift trembling fingers to one overhanging branch but jumped back in surprise as it _moved_ before her touch!

Caspian chuckled, steadying her and said, "They will not harm you, Alandra. They simply do not know you." He craned his head next to hers and gestured into the forest. "Look…"

She did and softly gasped, eyes wide. They were moving! The trees were slowly moving towards them, oak, beech and ash. She dimly heard Tristan's sharp gasp behind her as three large trunks materialized from the dense canopy, coming to stand just at the edge of the clearing.

A slim inquisitive tendril slithered from the cluster of leaves, its tip brushing gently against Caspian's hand, as if seeking recognition. He lifted his arm, letting the root curl around his wrist and chuckled as it flicked his shoulder gently.

Alandra caught her breath as the root left the king and moved towards her, seeing it pause for a moment then hesitantly reach for her hand. Seeing Caspian's nod, she lifted her fingers, brushing their tips against the smooth vine. It tapped against her for a bit, then slowly wound around her wrist, tugging gently. Caught in the tree's careful embrace, she stepped forward, walking towards the trees as they twisted around to face her, if such was the appropriate phrase.

She could still hear them singing, their melody now slow and darker, but still tinged with that childish curiosity. Stopping just within reach of the branches, she stood immobile, gazing up at the magnificent sight. A few leaves extended to touch her face, feathering over her cheeks and hair, as the little root smoothed over her shoulder and down her arm, as if in welcome.

A soft rumbling echoed in her ears and she dimly heard the song change yet again, becoming haunting, wild and sweet. It was soothing to her; she felt as if she'd known its melody all along, but was finally hearing it in its completeness for the first time.

A gentle breeze washed over her and she heard that same high giggle again; now when she gazed about, she spied the little creature responsible. The wood nymphs had emerged from the forest. Two were swirling about, peeking through the trees at the newcomers to their wood. Dimly Alandra heard Caspian behind her saying, "These are my friends. Know them well, for they come to you in wonder and in friendship."

The large beech tree was giving Tristan the same treatment as the other two were his sister, but the young man decidedly looked a bit uncomfortable at being examined by a _tree_. Nevertheless, he laughed shakily as the foliage apparently decided him welcome and moved off again, coming up to the king and his sister, staring at the nymphs in amazement.

Alandra was hypnotized. She was lost in the forest's song, enraptured by the magical music. One of the nymphs, after greeting the king with a soft brush of petals against him, swirled to the princess and administered the same, saying in that high, sweet voice, "Welcome, Alandra, daughter of Eve." A petaled hand gently feathered against the princess' cheek then she swirled again and danced away, coming back to take form again. "Long have we waited for you."

"Waited? For me?"

The nymph nodded her head, a few stray petals falling to her shoulders. "Yes. For the Daughter of Eve to walk amongst us." She gestured to the trees. "They already sing your song, Majesty."

As the nymph said, the song grew louder until it filled the clearing with magic, setting to sway the leaves in their branches. The music poured from the trees, swirling around the three humans as it sang its way through the forest.

Alandra turned with it, coming to face her brother who was staring around them in humbled wonderment. He looked at his sister and smiled. "You were right, Landy," he said softly, "it _is_ real…"

She smiled, taking his hands as they stood together, enraptured in the magic of the forest. A moment later, she felt a hand settle on her shoulder and turned to see Caspian gesturing to the other side of the clearing.

"Come," he said, "there's more."

As they walked on, Alandra finally saw to what he'd been referring. A few animals had undoubtedly heard the trees' song and crept forward to investigate. One of the largest badgers she'd ever imagined was standing on his back legs, sniffing the air curiously.

"Sire!" it said, making Tristan jerk back in alarm but Alandra stared in amazement as the creature bounded forward to greet the king, the two exchanging greetings like old friends.

"Trufflehunter!" Caspian called, dropping to a knee to embrace the Narnian. Stepping back, the badger looked up at the two other humans, wariness easing back into its stance.

Alandra watched in awe as the badger crept forward, stopping just shy of her skirts and looked up at her, then it said, "I'd heard the song of the trees change. It was odd, so I came to see why." The animal glanced over at the king.

"Princess Alandra," he introduced her to the Narnian. "My guest here in Narnia."

"Your Highness," Trufflehunter said, bowing his black and white head. "Welcome to our lands."

"Th-thank you," she stammered, counting on manners to save her. Caspian introduced Tristan and he actually came forward to shake the badger's hand.

Trufflehunter grinned, then added, "Oh! You're just in time for tea, Sire, if you'd like."

"That would indeed be wonderful, my friend," Caspian said with a smile. "Has Trumpkin returned?"

The badger shook his head. "Not as of yet, my liege. But I expect him any day." He turned around and gestured to the two newcomers. "Shall we, my lady?" he inquired, gallantly offering his paw to Alandra.

She glanced at Caspian, who chuckled and nodded. "Go ahead. I'll get the horses and join you there." Tristan went with him, leaving Alandra to take the offered paw and follow the badger into the forest. But she wasn't afraid. She moved through the forest in wonder, still able to hear the song of the trees, gently floating to her ears. Trufflehunter walked on steadily; Alandra marveled at the realness of Narnia's talking creatures.

"Long has it been since a Queen walked through our forest," she heard him say.

She blinked, then chuckled ruefully. "I'm not a queen, dear Trufflehunter. That title will go to my elder sister, when she and the king are married."

The badger gazed up at her. "You are a Daughter of Eve, Lady Alandra. That alone makes you Queen in our eyes." He smiled. "That and the King has brought you to us."

She blushed and heard him chuckle to himself, but then he said, "Ah, here we are. Home sweet home." Alandra blinked as she realized he meant the roots of the massive tree before them. Indeed, a little door on tiny hinges was fastened between the roots.

Once inside, Trufflehunter made sure she was settled and comfortable, then went bustling about his den, preparing tea for his distinguished guests. Alandra gazed about in amazement. There were lamps, books, small yet comfortable chairs, and other odds and ends that any human might have in their home. A brightly woven cloth covered the small table, upon which sat an assortment of fruits as a centerpiece. A few vases of flowers added decoration and a woven curtain partisaned off rest of the burrow; she guessed those were Trufflehunter's sleeping quarters.

A commotion behind her proved to be Caspian and Tristan entering, the latter banging his head on a low-hanging root. Alandra grinned, hearing Caspian say, "I warned you, duck lower, my friend."

Holding his throbbing forehead, Tristan emerged into the small sitting room and gazed around much as his sister had done. "Amazing," he marveled, looking down as Trufflehunter emerged from the small kitchen with four steaming mugs of tea.

"Sit, sit," the badger instructed, making sure his guests were properly comfortable. Caspian grinned and plunked down atop the step leading to the other room, letting Tristan and their host enjoy the chairs and table. Trufflehunter handed Alandra a cup with all the aplomb of a diplomat, asking about sugar and cream. After dropping two sugar cubes in her cup, he did the same to Tristan, adding two cubes and a dollop of cream before serving his king and settling down himself.

"Everything well, my lady?" he inquired of Alandra, who sipped her tea slowly and somehow couldn't quite believe she was sitting in a badger's living room, doing just that.

But she nodded with a smile. "Indeed, kind sir. Well and lovely."

"Have you spoken with Glenstorm, Trufflehunter?" Caspian then asked.

The badger shook his head. "I haven't, Sire. He and Ironhoof were still at the castle, the last I'd heard."

"I've had no news from Torman, thus my inquiry." The king frowned a bit, but shrugged it off. "I suppose things are going well. Had there been a problem, _then_ the news would have undoubtedly reached me at the castle."

Seeing his guests' puzzled expressions, he explained, "The rebuilding of Cair Paravel. We've been working on it this last two years, restoring the palace to its former glory."

Alandra put down her teacup in fascination as Trufflehunter added, "And well has it been, too. Narnians and Telmarines working together. Truly, a great stride for peace."

"Cair Paravel?" Tristan echoed, glancing at his sister. "Isn't that the castle…" he trailed off.

"…of the Kings and Queens of Old," Alandra finished for him.

Caspian nodded. "Yes. When the Telmarines first invaded Narnia, they attacked Cair Paravel first, to ensure the broken spirits of Narnia's inhabitants. It saddens me, to see it ruined thus. When I took my crown, I assigned a good many of my people to its reconstruction."

Alandra nearly lurched off her chair. "Truly?" she asked excitedly. "Oh, Caspian, may we go?"

He took a drink of tea, but shook his head regretfully. "I doubt we'd make it today, Alandra. The castle stands on the other side of Narnia, on a cliff overlooking the sea. It's a good day's ride from here." He smiled at her forlorn look. "Don't worry. You'll get the chance to see it, my lady. My word on it."

Somewhat mollified, the princess sat back in her chair, enjoying the rest of Trufflehunter's tea. The visit went on for some time, Alandra enjoying herself immensely in the badger's comfortable hospitality. When they came from the tree, emerging into the afternoon air, Trufflehunter took her hand and pressed it to his cheek.

"Glad I am that you came to us, Majesty," he said warmly. "I eagerly await your return."

Touched by this heartfelt sentiment, Alandra dropped to her knees and embraced the badger, hearing him squeak in surprise but he nuzzled against her just the same. Leaning back, she smiled with tears in her eyes. "As soon as I possibly can, dear Trufflehunter. I promise."

Tristan handed her Charger's reins and helped her swing aboard, bidding his own farewells to their gracious host. Then he too mounted after Caspian, turning their horses back towards the west. Alandra hung back for a long moment, listening to the now-familiar melody of the trees. Trufflehunter stood before his door and lifted a paw in farewell. She waved in return, then turned Charger's head and followed her brother and the king.

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **I blame the robitussin for this one. Good Lord, but it came out of _nowhere_, shocking me within an inch of _life._ Still, I think things are clipping along quite nicely, actually. Granted, there is a bit of emo!zomg in here, but deal with it, it's necessary. At least there aren't any razors around.

BUT, bearing all that in mind, dear readers whom are awesome and so supportive, enjoy. Doubtless you guys'll be just as surprised as I was.

* * *

The following day had not gone well. Alandra moped in her room, annoyed beyond all reckoning. The wonderfulness of yesterday had been shattered upon their return to the castle, where both Telfonus and the Archduke were waiting, just_ yearning_ for time alone with their respective charges. Alandra hadn't even time to thank Caspian for the ride before the seething general had hauled his king upstairs and she and Tristan had been firmly tongue-lashed by their irate father.

Shortly afterward, Archduke Bornen had returned swearing like a pirate, nearly reduced to throwing things the same as his eldest child during one of her famous tantrums. Eavesdropping on the conversation – which wasn't too much of a chore honestly, since Bornen was shouting his aggravation to the high heavens – Alandra discerned that _apparently_ the Telmarine king was a bit abrupt with the Archduke's demanded explanation of his absence earlier that day. The princess hid her snarfles in her hand, figuring that being told summarily to go back to his rooms hadn't sat quite well with her esteemed patron.

"Just _who_ does that urchin think he is?" her father had demanded of his advisors. She was unable to hear the reply, but didn't doubt it was something appropriately soothing.

Alandra spitefully provided her own dialogue as she paced restlessly around her room the following day, recalling the conversation. "He's the _King of Narnia_, dear Father, and doubtless didn't appreciate you yelling at him like you do your own children. More importantly, you've seemingly forgotten that _you're_ the one who arrived uninvited at _his_ home just to dump your spoiled ungrateful daughter in the poor man's lap!"

She stomped away from the wall, growling under her breath as she slung her sewing across the carpeted floor, ignoring the pathetic little _slap_ it made as it hit the stone wall and slid to the floor. Annis looked up with some concern.

"M'lady?" she inquired, taken a bit aback by Alandra's fierce scowl.

The princess fumed a bit longer, wanting to severely yank out a few handfuls of hair, but settled for flouncing to the window and plunking her elbows atop the sill, head petulantly propped on her hands.

"It's nothing, Annis," she finally answered with a dispassionate sigh.

Apparently the maid didn't believe her for she sat aside her own sewing and approached her lady at the window, placing a comforting arm over the girl's shoulders. "There, now. No need to be so melancholy, Alandra dear. Didn't you have a wonderful time in the forest?"

The memory did its duty; a gentle smile curved the princess' face. "I did, Annis," she admitted, thankfully leaning her head on the older lady's shoulder. "It was wonderful. The trees…they _sang_ for me." Her green eyes grew distant as she stared out over the plain, her smile soft. "My very own song. …Alandra's song…it was beautiful."

Annis sighed, letting her lady take comfort against her. She stroked Alandra's hair, saying a bit wistfully, "Would that you could take your sister's place, Highness. I think you'd be more suited to this land. It seems to call to you with a magic all its own."

Alandra blinked, slowly digesting this and lifted her head as a slow flush crept her cheeks. "Nonsense," she negated, returning to her lean atop the window sill. "It is Melissande's right to be queen." But she wondered why she didn't voice the truth as vehemently as before.

* * *

Elsewhere in the castle – up the stairs and five archways over, to be precise – a rather flummoxed General Telfonus was standing ram-rod straight before his scowling king, realizing that yesterday's commotion had yet to be forgiven.

Caspian was _still_ fuming. Brows lowered over dark storming eyes, he speared his general with that hard gaze, _so_ wanting the man to fidget beneath it, and it only cankered him more when Telfonus did not. Yesterday, the king had been yet _again_ shuffled off to his room like a child denied dessert and it was enough to spike his ire to fever pitch. The professor was wise enough to realize the danger signs but Telfonus had either missed or ignored them completely.

_More likely the latter, _Caspian thought sourly, scowling harder. He tapped fingers on the hilt of his sword, knowing better than to let his tongue run away with his temper. For all his unswerving loyalty, Telfonus still possessed a delicate ego, no doubt stemming from his reach of absolute perfection in his duties. Well, it was high time that his friend _cease_ treating him like a spoiled child and more like a king.

Taking a _deep_ breath, Caspian turned away and walked to the window, staring out but not seeing the rooftops of Telmar. "You have a report for me, General?" he inquired levelly.

There was a pause before Telfonus answered. "I do, Sire. The Archduke respectfully requests another conference with Your Majesty."

Caspian snorted, half-turning and putting hands behind his back. "Not today, Telfonus. I've lost patience with the lot of you." Now he did turn and glared angrily at his general. "You and the archduke _both_ seemed to have forgotten just _who_ is king here in Narnia."

Telfonus frowned back and opened his mouth but Caspian slashed a hand through the air, cutting off any further protestations. "Silence!" he demanded, shocking the general into speechlessness. "Your King has _not_ given you leave to speak, General!"

The professor, smartly seated across the room out of the sight line, glanced up sharply at the king's raised voice. But he didn't dare interfere; Caspian _was_ the king and he privately agreed that it was _past_ time for the boy to begin acting like one. Sad that it had to be at this particular time; Cornelius privately prayed that whatever happened, the friendships would still remain.

"I tire of this run-about, Telfonus," Caspian went on in a hard voice. "I will remind you once again, _General_, that it is _you _who serve _me._ If that is a duty which poses too much difficulty, speak thus and I shall relieve you of it and assign you a task more suited to your capabilities."

Even as he said the words, Caspian was shocked that they left his mouth. Apparently Telfonus shared the same sentiment, for he suddenly went pale, then red with flushed anger, but he wisely kept his mouth closed and cast his eyes down at the floor.

Seeing this humbled man before him had the king instantly deflating, his anger washed away to be replaced with sympathy. Wordlessly, he crossed the room and embraced the older man, willing that unyielding spine to bend, just a little.

"I am sorry, my friend," he whispered raggedly. "I did mean to speak so harshly."

For a moment, he thought Telfonus might refuse any of it, but he felt the man's arms slowly rise and return the gesture, the two friends clasping the other close.

Stepping back, he saw the general blinking rapidly, but Telfonus said gruffly, "Kings don't apologize…Sire."

Caspian grinned through his own misty gaze. "They can if they so wish, Telfonus."

Telfonus snorted a laugh, wiping at his face with the back of one hand. "No, you were right to take me to task. Although, I will admit a bit of fear when you first turned around." He glanced down sheepishly. "I had thought you might strike off my head then and there."

"By the gods, no!" Caspian negated with a frown. "Never that. I'm no tyrant, brother. But I _am_ king, therefore you _must _allow me to be such." He grinned ruefully. "No doubt that you'll have to save me from countless royal blunders, but I'd rather no one else."

The general harrumphed under his breath and rolled his eyes, letting the king bear him off to the kitchens for a few swigs of potent courage.

A few hours later, both Caspian and Telfonus – appropriately tipsy – were sitting in the large parlor just off the king's suite. Well, Telfonus was sitting, enjoying the comforts of the large wing-backed chair just beside the fire, but his liege was sprawled across the small divan, head propped on his arm and one booted foot slung over the arm and swinging absently. Caspian stared at the arched ceiling, wondering just why the pink and green nymphs were swirling around _inside_. Out of the blue, he suddenly asked, slewing his head around to stare at the other man, "Did I tell you my brilliant plan, Telfonus?"

The general blinked owlishly, dropping the large book in his lap and leaned forward, nearly kicking over the jug of ale they'd hauled up from the kitchen. He picked it up and took a long swig, half-rising from his chair to offer it to his king. A few half-hearted attempts had him fussing, "Keep your blasted hand still, Caspian."

The king blinked, then stared at the accused hand. He didn't remember moving it, so what was Telfonus blithering about now? But the jug and his palm finally connected and he grinned his thanks, taking a long pull from the jug. Idly he wondered why he'd never before liked the taste of alcohol. It didn't bother him _now_.

But all these ruminations were lost upon the king as Telfonus answered, "No, my lord, you haven't. Didn't. Whatever." The general dropped back into his chair with a tired sigh, propping a boot on his knee. "Your brilliant plan for what, pray tell?"

Caspian took another long draught, realizing that the bitter liquid no longer burned his throat, but instead started a warm fuzzy curl in the pit of his stomach, spreading outward to his chest and beyond. Managing to put down the jug without tipping it over, he reclined back on the couch and resumed his swinging and staring.

"My brilliant plan to get out of this betrothal. Surely I told you."

Telfonus frowned, searching his scattered memory for any such conversation. Finally giving up, he shook his dark head, starting to reach for the jug but giving up as he realized it was a bit further away than his arm could conveniently reach. "No, Sire. I don't believe you did. What is it?"

Caspian blinked, belching. "What is what?" He stared at the general for a minute, uncomprehending, then finally said, "Oh! That! Yes. Well. It's this thought I had the other day. Day before yesterday, or last week or sometime." He grinned, staring back at the ceiling. "Brilliant thought, if only I can pull it off. You're sure to yell at me, but I don't think I care too much about that. It's just _brilliant_, my idea. Wait till I tell you; you'll think it just sheer genius."

He trailed off, grinning, waiting for Telfonus to congratulate him on his prowess. When nothing came, Caspian propped up on an elbow and arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Well," he said invitingly, "what do you think?"

Telfonus blinked back at him. "About what, my lord?"

"My idea, you clot! What else?"

"Sire," Telfonus said, exhibiting patience even the divine would have envied, "you've not yet told me your brilliant idea. You were just getting to it, I believe."

Caspian's face fell. "Oh." He glanced up. "I was?" He thought a moment, then sighed and flopped back down on the couch. "That's a pity. Because I seem to have forgotten what it was."

He reached down for the ale jug but it appeared to be toying with him because his flopping hand just couldn't find it. Scowling darkly, he rolled over and made to snatch it, only to find his general standing up with it in his hand.

"Don't b-be greedy, T-Telfunns," he drawled, trying to bring the room back into focus. He tried to stand, but the larger Telmarine gently pushed him back down atop the divan.

"No, Majesty," Telfonus shook his head, wobbling a bit on his own feet. "I don't think you need any more tonight. Just some cold w-water and a b-breath of fresh a-air, m-maybe." He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear their misty haze.

Staggering to the door, he shouted for a servant, because in their present state, he doubted either he or his king could make it down the steps without tumbling and breaking something vital, like their necks. Caspian's genius idea would just have to wait. Which, in all probability and retrospect, was a _good_ thing.

* * *

Late that night, Alandra finally grew tired of the boredom her chambers expressed and, without bothering dear Annis, slipped on a light robe over her dressing gown and went for a walk of the corridors. Granted, she had no _intention _of becoming lost, but she had no aversion to such if it chanced to happen. _One did have interesting adventures that way_, she thought with a grin.

Nevertheless, the stationed guards she passed inclined their heads respectfully as she passed, slippered feet making little noise on the stone. She didn't have a destination in mind, she just wanted a breath of air from somewhere other than the window of her room or that of her father's guest quarters, where she and her family had been cooped up most of the day.

And her sister had been in fine voice, as well. Apparently, glorious Melissande had taken the time from her busy schedule and tried to initiate some one-on-one time with His Majesty the King, only to be informed by a brusquely polite General Telfonus that His Majesty the King wasn't accepting visitors at the moment.

The shrieks had undoubtedly disturbed the horses, seven stories below. Alandra had winced as her sister fumed across their father's quarters, but outwardly kept her countenance calm and bland, never mind that she wanted to clock her trading sister with a shoe.

Tristan, obediently studying some documentation of the Archduke's, had met Alandra's eye and theatrically rolled his own, outrageously miming their sibling while her rant was in full sway. Melissande had finally ran down perhaps an hour later, undoubtedly running out of new adjectives to use against all Telmarines and their ancestors, dependents and whatever children those rat-spawn happened to father.

Alandra chuckled as she walked along. She wondered if her father indeed intended his royal brat to marry the Telmarine king. For such was their only reason here in Telmar. But somehow, she just couldn't imagine any good coming of such a union. Not for Narnia, surely, for Melissande harbored a towering dislike for anything remotely resembling dirt or nature. She'd not do so well with the trees, that was certain. And poor Trufflehunter! Alandra couldn't imagine the dear badger meeting her sister. Melissande would undoubtedly have her soldiers try to shoot him.

She shook her head with a sigh. And poor Caspian…he would no doubt be driven to insanity, having to deal with Melissande's bouts of peevishness, temper tantrums and spoiled ways. It saddened her, to have absolutely no faith in her blood-kin, but she knew the outcome, however disastrous it might be.

Another melancholy sigh escaped her as she climbed the tower stairs. Perhaps from the top she might be able to get a breath of clear air… She gingerly opened the door that led out and paused, seeing a familiar figure turn at the noise.

Hurriedly lowering her eyes, she stammered, "…I-I'm sorry. I d-didn't mean to disturb you…"

Caspian stepped forward, catching the door in one hand. "No," he said invitingly, "not at all. Please," he entreated with a smile, holding out his other hand, "stay."

Beckoned by the king's warm smile, Alandra took the offered hand and stepped out atop the tower with him, taking a deep breath of cool night air. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, grateful for the clear breeze. She felt it run tender fingers through her loose hair and smiled, leaning both hands on the stone.

Caspian stepped up beside her, leaning his elbows on the side of the tower. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he inquired quietly.

"It is," she nodded, wondering if she should really be up here. The king had obviously been enjoying his solitude; gone was the sword and dagger, as well as the rest of the kingly raiment, His Majesty seemed quiet content in a loose white tunic, brown breeches and well-scuffed boots.

"Caspian," she said, turning towards him meaningfully, "if I've disturbed you in any way at all…" she began, but he firmly shook his head, staring down at the mortar between the stones.

"No, Alandra. Not at all. Actually, your timely arrival pulled me from some of my more morbid thoughts."

Concern filled her eyes and she tentatively placed a hand on his arm. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry. What were you thinking about?" And she could have kicked herself. _Alandra, you twit. The man just _said_ they were things he'd likely rather not think about, let alone discuss!_

But it surprised her when Caspian answered without hesitation. "Marrying your sister, for one."

She couldn't help it; she laughed. Catching his quizzical look, she bit her lip on the rest of her mirth and told him honestly, "You know, I was thinking that same thing just a bit ago, actually. How miserable you'll be if you do."

His puzzlement was evident between his eyebrows and she said again, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't say things like that about my own kin, but it's the sad truth." Mimicking his lean atop the stones, she absently toyed with a loose curl as she went on. "I daresay that Anvard took a huge breath of relief when father decided it was time to journey north, here. I know our people at the palace were overjoyed."

Alandra knew he was looking at her intently, but she just couldn't meet those dark eyes. Keeping her gaze forward, she continued, "My father has always known she would be queen one day. He raised her with that knowledge. Melissande's not a bad person, she's not, she's just…difficult. She's expected to be perfect, to hold herself to that high standard of royalty that my father instilled in her since she was able to walk and hold a teacup.

"Tristan…is his heir. His 'replacement' on the throne of Archenland." She sighed gently. "But Tristan doesn't want to sit atop a throne for the rest of his days. He wants to be like you, Caspian," she said, turning her head to meet his gaze. "He wants to know the heat of battle, the clash of swords, the glory that comes with victory."

Alandra heard his soft sigh as he once again turned to stare at the landscape over the tower. "Battle…is hardly that," he told her quietly. "There's little glory in it…seeing friends cut down like stalks of wheat. Hearing their screams…wishing you could just end it, to let them find ease in passing. Glory only covers those lucky enough to remain standing when the blood and the horror have ebbed, Alandra. I never want a part of it again. Ever." The vehemence in his voice she didn't expect, but Alandra could understand. The senselessness of war, the absolute stupidity of such an act…and in the end, nothing came of it. Just death and dying all around. Sympathy washed over her and she unerringly took his hand in hers, clasping their fingers together.

Caspian stared at their entwined hands for a long minute, then slowly leaned his forehead to her shoulder, sighing heavily. Alandra remained still; content to let him lean upon her, to be a comfort in a time of need. Tenderness prompted her to lean her cheek atop his head, to soothe him if he wished. He was such a _good _man, such a bright soul in this slowly awakening world. A flame of seething resentment crackled for the first time in her heart; her sister didn't deserve this man. Not by _far_.

The king rested against her for a moment longer, then lifted his head with a gentle smile, unspoken gratitude written in his eyes. "And what of you, princess. What plans does your esteemed father have for his youngest daughter?"

_Oh, would that he'd not ever asked…_Alandra felt her countenance slowly becoming wooden, plain, nonchalant. Desperately trying to keep bitterness from scathing her voice, she very slowly shrugged one shoulder as she turned back to the view.

"Oh, I don't know, really. I have no worth in his political schemes, so he'll more than likely marry me off to a second lord, perhaps, or ensconce me in a university somewhere, a librarian or stewardess."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Caspian's minute frown. "…but you are a princess. A Royal Daughter of Archenland."

Alandra snorted. "I'm a mistake, Caspian," she told him shortly. "My parents didn't want any more children after Tristan was born. My father had his queen, then his heir, he needed no more 'perpetuations to his lineage', as he calls it."

She tossed back her hair, her spine straight and stiffer than an arrow. "When I was sixteen, the midwife told me that my mother tried to end her life when she discovered herself with child again."

Caspian's gasp was clearly audible. "What? Alandra, that's monstrous! Is your father _that _much of a tyrant?"

"No, he's not, Caspian," she answered tiredly. "But my mother was petrified of disappointing him. When he found out, however, he just shrugged it off as a problem for a later day. I was born and he didn't even notice, really. Oh, he was kind to me, saw to my care after our mother died, but I just don't loom very large in his plans, is all."

She tried to reassure him with a smile. "I've grown used to it, actually. It's sort of nice, knowing _I _don't have to measure up to his expectations."

The frown still remained upon the king's well-bred face as he scowled. His concern touched her and she chuckled, pressing a palm to his cheek. "Don't fret so, Caspian," she told him gently. "As you said, I'm still a princess, yes?"

Brow still furrowed, he nodded, placing a hand over hers for a moment, then taking it in his. "The noblest, most royal, enchanting princess that ever graced this land, my lady," he told her with a rakish smile, bowing at the waist while softly kissing the back of her hand.

Alandra did well to ignore the little tingles that rippled from her hand along the rest of her skin, attributing it to a shiver from the wind than its true source. Yet she laughed gently at his antics, giving an impromptu curtsy in response.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she said graciously.

He nodded. "I speak but the truth, sweet lady, and only truth." Caspian grinned, not relinquishing the gentle grip on her fingers. "Honor me with a dance, Alandra?"

She blinked. "What? Here? Now?"

His low laugh made her shiver. "A dance. Here. Now. Yes." Caspian tugged a bit insistently.

"B-but we have no music!" She tried not to trip over her suddenly clumsy feet.

"Of course we do," Caspian said, unobtrusively placing one long arm around her even as he held her other hand aloft.

"W-we do?"

"We do," he said firmly, maneuvering them into the center of the small balcony. As she blinked up at him in confusion, he chuckled again and said, "Sing the trees' song, Alandra. Sing the song they sang for you."

Alandra continued to stare up at Caspian for a moment, then the melody came back to her, that haunting dark song that she'd somehow always known. "Alandra's Song," she whispered, seeing him nod in reply. Of its own volition, the melody hummed from her lips and they began to gently move with it, stepping in slow circles in perfect sync to the music she gave.

The more they moved, the easier the song came and it washed over her, soothing all the frayed tempers and nerves, providing a cool balm to the times she'd despaired of not being wanted, of not belonging. It set to ease her fears, her worries, her cares. It was truly _her _song. The trees had awoken it in her heart and it came forth now, providing a dark sweet melody to which they danced.

The king moved her slowly, surely, leading her across the stone floor with fluid grace, their steps in perfect rhythm and after a bit Alandra blinked to realize that Caspian was humming a different song altogether, this one a bit faster, a bit rougher, but nevertheless, still keeping perfect time with the melody leaving her lips. With a start she realized that it was his own song, the song the trees had sung the first time they recognized him as friend, the song they'd woken inside him.

Dancing together in the cool night, Caspian and Alandra both hummed their own Narnian melodies, providing a perfect harmony of song and magic. The princess felt strangely light, as if her feet could at any moment leave the earth and the only thing keeping her bound were the king's arms, holding her so firmly.

He gracefully twirled her and pulled her back, flush against the other and for that sudden instant the song left Alandra's lips as she froze in his arms. Glittering dark eyes caught hers and held, the magic swirling thick as she stared up at him.

Caspian's lips too fell silent and the barest breath passed between them before she recalled her senses and again picked up the melody, pulling him back into their dance. She heard his countersong resume, it again fitting perfectly with the tones of her own song.

But it finally left her lips for the last time and she stilled, flushed there in the king's embrace. Licking dry lips, she whispered, "That's it. It's finished…"

Caspian as well stilled, nodding slowly. "Run its course," he replied huskily. "But the magic's still there, Alandra. Do you feel it?"

This time she was unable to blame the wind for the shiver that coursed down her spine as a calloused thumb feathered gently over her cheek. She closed her eyes, hands atop his broad shoulders fisting in his tunic.

"I do," she breathed back, helpless to fight its dangerous pull.

Caspian's low chuckle made her eyes open just enough to see his dark head lowering and she hitched a swift breath in heady anticipation, but he only pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as his rough palms softy cupped her jaw, fingers tangling in tousled red hair.

She sighed as their noses brushed and heard his rough whisper, "As do I, sweet Alandra. As do I."

Instinctually, she nuzzled against him, just pressing her lips to his cheek. "…Caspian…" she whispered, unsure and tentative as one wanting hand softly threaded through soft dark hair.

He remained thus against her for a long, long moment, but she heard his quiet groan and let her hands fall as he straightened, releasing her from his arms. The smile he gave her nearly brought her to tears as he once again took her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to the flushed skin.

"Thank you," he said simply.

Unknowing as to what, Alandra just mutely nodded, unable to help return his forlorn smile. Caspian insisted upon escorting her to her quarters; they walked in silence the entire way, but their hands remained clasped until he deposited her before her door.

"This seems a bit familiar," she said with a small chuckle, thankful to hear his returned.

"Indeed, it does," Caspian agreed. He looked down at their entwined fingers, lifting them to close his eyes and brush the backs of her knuckles against his cheek before bestowing another kiss to her wrist. "Sweet dreams, my lady," he said with a soft smile, finally letting go.

Alandra hadn't wanted to leave the battlement; she'd have been quite content to remain thus for the rest of eternity, but she nevertheless gave him a sweet fond smile, responding in kind. "And you, my king. Good night."

As before, the last sight for her eyes before she closed the door was the king's handsome youthful face, one she instinctively _knew_ she'd be seeing yet again in her dreams. And, as her dreams before, the magic would be wild and free, taking them far beyond this castle of rock and stone, to a place where even the stars fell from their heavens to join them in their ethereal dance.

_To be continued..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I apologize. I've been somewhat under the weather and inspiration hasn't come easily. But I did a bit of brainstorming last night with my editor - long may she rule - and we've come up with a few things. So, please bear with if I'm slow on the updating process. I want to make sure I'm putting out the very best stuff I can to honor both the story itself and its devoted readers. You guys deserve that.

I'm going to say again that I've had to take extreme liberties with the fandom, especially regarding geography (why _didn't_ the Great Lewis give us a before and after map of the realm? Oh, I despair muchly.) and involving all sorts of original characters. While not part of the original works, they nevertheless do exist in my little Narnia-fan world and Lord knows I've tried to keep them true to the fandom. But we _are_ going to have bad guys and good guys and they just might surprise you a little bit.

Also, while I'm going to try to keep the story centered around Narnia as much as I can, do remember that even though he's young and somewhat inconsistant when it comes to ruling a kingdom, our dear Caspy _is _the king and he needs to start acting like one. That's part of what the story's about; growing up, or into, our responsibilities. So, bearing all that in mind, I'll hush now and let you enjoy chapter 7. Sib

* * *

Her Royal Highness Melissande, beautiful Jewel of all Anvard, sat before her mirror and fumed. However, despite her roiling emotions, the only outward sign of her upset was the small line between perfectly sculpted eyebrows. She stared at her reflection and _seethed_.

This was _not _going well. Her father had promised her the Royal Crown here at Telmar and by all the gods in the heavens and below, she _would _have it, one way or another! Yet, for all her glorious perfection, this ingrate king seemed content to spend his free time cavorting with her idiot brother and deadly dull sister! It wasn't to be _borne_!

And this _king_! Melissande vented a quite-unladylike snort. She'd imagined the Telmarine king somewhat _differently_ than the reality that jounced his way into the courtyard. No, the King of all Telmar and Narnia should be a great man, one tall, dark and strong, of regal bearing and noble countenance, not some youthful ingrate who looked as if he should be shoveling in the stables!

The more her thoughts drifted along these veins, the angrier she became, but there was no use in having a tantrum; no one was awake yet to appreciate her fine flare for histrionics. The princess merely resigned herself to pouting atop her stool; halfheartedly brushing at her thick black hair, only succeeding in mussing the dark locks further. Giving up, she threw the silver gilded accessory across the room, taking small comfort in the resounding _thud _against the stone. But she finally forced herself to calm; soon it would be a moot point anyway.

Her goal in Telmar was to gain the throne by marrying the reigning king. Although she'd not been so fortunate thus far, there was at least _one _thing she knew she could call upon for help. For all her vainness, Melissande was not merely a spoiled, empty-headed brat. In all actuality, she knew the twists and turns of the male mind quite well, disregarding that it didn't twist all _that _much, in her jaundiced opinion.

Well-used to being admired by many of the most powerful men in the world, she'd long used that to her advantage, sometimes flirting outrageously, allowing herself to be courted with coy coquettishness. She'd even succumbed to a few stolen kisses in dark corners, but merely scorned the love-struck lad afterward, brushing him off with a cold-heartedness that would have done Jadis herself proud.

And, when natural means didn't work, there was always her fail safe, carefully nestled in a silver jewelry box that always accompanied her. Melissande picked it up now, gently opening the polished lid and brushing aside to the velvet cloth, revealing the small heart-shaped bottle. The elixir inside was dark, nearly bloody in color. But it was potent; the one who'd given it to her had been adamant on that. He'd also warned her to use it _only _here in Telmar, just in case her betrothed proved problematic.

The instructions were painfully simple: "Two drops, Highness," he'd said. "In a glass of wine. Make sure you're the first the king sees after drinking, and his heart will forever be yours, as will the crown of Telmar and Narnia."

Yet now, they were here in Telmar, and she was no closer to that crown than she'd been in Anvard. The boy-king was just being awfully stubborn about it. Melissande pursed her lips, ethereal eyes narrowed in thought. She snarled into the mirror. _Everything _depended on her attainment of the throne. Long ivory fingers removed the bottle from its nest. She held it up to the candlelight, watching the flame flicker deep in the elixir's depths. Melissande turned the little bottle over in her hand. The gods knew that her boring little sister had prattled on and on of magic, faeries and taking creatures. Well, Her Royal Highness figured that it was high time to show everyone just _what_ brand of magic could bind two kingdoms together for eternity.

* * *

He woke with a throbbing headache. Odd, but he couldn't recall being struck on the temple. Caspian groaned, rolling over to hang halfway off the bed, knowing that if he opened his eyes he'd see the floor move. But they disobeyed his command and did just that, sliding open just enough for him to make out shapes beyond his eyelashes. Everything was gray and fuzzy.

Groaning, the king rolled back atop the mattress, arm flung over his seared eyes. The drapes were pulled, throwing his chambers into cool dimness, but nevertheless the light that did permeate the room seemed to make straight for his brain, smoking into his ears and eyes to bang about his head with sharp centaur hooves, they taking delight in tormenting him.

But with consciousness came remembrance, clarity was still out for the morning. He recalled the bout of recreational drinking with Telfonus, which he could now blame for his aching head and watering eyes. _And _for his rather brash actions last night with a certain redheaded princess.

Yet that memory brought to light _other _memories, specifically the ones of their dancing atop the battlement, of the way their songs had melded together, much the same as had their embrace. The king sighed softly, lowering his arm from his face and staring up at the bed's high canopy, his mind's eye envisioning wind-tossed unbound hair, dark green eyes that were so timid, so unsure but entrancing just the same, pale lips that had sang so beautifully, given voice to the magic inherent in the melody, lips that had trembled when speaking his name, those eager soft lips that he should have kissed…

Caspian groaned and flopped over, burying his head in the pillows, willing sanity to return to his jumbled brain. Now he knew _why _he'd always avoided alcohol like the plague. And thus did he make a fervent pledge to do so again, never mind the occasion. He probably had the ale tolerance of a squirrel. And he knew a few squirrels, so he could relate.

Malcan trooped in a few minutes later, primly ignoring his liege's groans of protest when prodded to get out of bed and bathe. He doused his king thoroughly, determined that Caspian would face the day with a clear head.

After nearly drowning in the bathtub and irritably sending away his overly solicitous – but privately smirking – valet, the king dressed slowly, pulling on his left boot with a groan. He did _not _want to tackle any political problems today. What he _really _wanted was to take Destrier and head back to Cair Paravel for a few weeks and let all this nonsense just percolate without him.

But the royalty in him sternly abraded that notion. Whether he liked it or not, he was still the king, and as such, had responsibilities to his kingdom, despite the fact that they were responsibilities he felt he could sometimes do without. Besides, he realized with a lightening face, he still had his 'genius' idea to put forth to the Archduke.

Yes, he should do that right now. The man had been trying to snag him for another bout of kingly fencing, so why not knock the nail right on the head, as Peter might have said? Caspian hauled on his other boot and ran fingers through his damp hair before buckling on sword and dagger, trotting from his quarters feeling ten times brisker than he had upon waking.

However, the first item on his agenda was not to be the conference with the Archduke. Before he'd even rounded the corner leading from his quarters, he was nearly bowled over by a hurried Telfonus, who bowed perfunctorily and began without preamble, "Sire. I was just on my way to fetch you."

Caspian grinned, straightening his sword belt. "I can see that. What's the rush, Telfonus?"

Telfonus didn't return the smile. "Rainstone and Sergeant Lord Scythley have returned, my king."

That had Caspian looking up a bit sharply. "Here? At the castle?" he echoed stupidly. "They're supposed to be patrolling the northeastern borders, looking for any other lands and families that need attention."

Telfonus nodded, urgently prodding his liege to accompany him. "I know, Sire. They have news for you, Rainstone reports. They're waiting for you in the council room."

Caspian didn't hesitate; he jogged after his General. This smacked of foreboding. Ever since Caspian had decreed that the Narnians would be reclaiming their lands, some of the Telmarine land owners had blustered about it, demanding that since _they _had been farming those lands for generations, they should be allowed to keep on doing so. Nevertheless, the young king had been adamant to keep the promise he'd made to the forest creatures.

Most of the Telmarine lords had fallen into line, thanks to the threat of unleashing _both _the Telmarine and Narnian armies should belligerence become too far out of hand, but a few still far to the north and east were apparently still unsettled about the entire affair. Caspian had appointed Rainstone, the eldest of Glenstorm's sons - and the most level-headed - to take a few of his countrymen and join Sergeant Lord Scythley in making rounds to these disgruntled men, trying to hammer out a beneficial agreement for everyone.

"Lucien's not with them, is he?" Caspian asked as they walked briskly down the steps.

Telfonus shook his dark head. "No, Sire. Lord A'Karn was near Beruna, last I'd heard. I'd imagine he's back at home now, tending to his own fields." Telfonus rolled his eyes. "Or he _should _be," he grumbled under his breath.

The huge centaur looked up as Caspian and his general entered the council chamber. Sergeant Lord Manfred Scythley rose respectfully to his feet. After greeting both of them, trying not to feel like a child when gazing up at the tall centaur, Caspian took his chair and asked pointedly, "All right, Manny. What's going on?"

Manfred glanced at his companion, who took the hint and responded. "Sire. We have come from the northern regions of the Western Woods. There have been a number of small squabbles among your people, my king."

Lord Scythley took up the thread then. "Mostly malcontents, Sire. Dithering on about the injustice of it all, that they're being forced to give up a fraction of their lands back to the Narnians. But the brushfires are getting serious." His weathered lined face grew grave. "The garrison at Bever's Landing was completely overrun by Lord Montoya's troops."

Caspian's eyes widened. "What? When?"

"Three days ago, Sire," Manfred answered. "Rainstone and I arrived by the time the dying was finished and mopped up the mess." He ran a hand down his face and sighed. "Lord Montoya was killed in the skirmish; apparently he'd been frothing at the mouth and leading the charge before they cut him down."

He leaned back in his chair and went on. "His son's in charge now, and you can believe Rainstone here put the fear of the Lion in the boy. Montoya'll not cause any more trouble, Sire." Manny grinned up at his tall friend. "Even when we left, I heard him screaming at what was left of his platoon and demanding the whip for himself; apparently his soldiers were about get a lesson in humility."

Caspian sank back in his chair with a groan. "This is exactly what I'd hoped to _avoid_, gentlemen," he told them tiredly. "I do not want Telmarines and Narnians fighting amongst themselves."

"Oh, there was no fighting between our people, Sire," Manny corrected. "Apparently Montoya just couldn't wrap his head around the fact that you'd _ordered _his estate to be reduced. And it wasn't like he was suffering from it, either. Goodness, I was actually _thankful _to give a chunk of mine away."

Rainstone smiled indulgently; truly, these conversations were beneath the centaur's understanding, since Narnians had no need to hold to any sort of titles. But he was in the service of his king, therefore he would do as he must and suffer these boring little meetings.

"Sire," Telfonus was saying, "we'll need to re-man that garrison at the Landing. With it so close to Ettinsmoor, we can't afford to leave it empty."

"Yes, Telfonus, I know," Caspian agreed, temple propped on his hand. "See to it, if you would." Telfonus nodded and made a note before turning back to the others.

"What of Lucien?" Caspian asked the two. "Could he not talk some sense into Lord Montoya?"

Manfred shrugged, spreading his hands. "He split off from us before we reached the woods' border, Sire," he explained. "Said he needed to veer towards Beruna to see to some business there. Apparently he knew something we didn't, because word reached us a few days later that an assassination attempt had been tried on the local magistrate at Beruna. Lucien and his men routed the brigands and sent them back to Karn for interrogation. He sent word that he was riding with them, just to make sure they arrived home." Manny shifted in his seat and snorted. "Personally I think he just wanted to be there when his boys stuck in the hot irons."

Caspian chortled. "Now, now, Sergeant. Lord A'Karn is a good man. One of the best. And a good friend."

Telfonus snorted and Manny echoed it. "May that be, Your Majesty, but he's a little _too _refined for my tastes. I will concede though, that I've never seen his equal when handling a blade."

The king nodded. "That's true indeed. He and I learned under the same master and I was never once able to disarm the lout."

Rainstone tolerated it a bit longer before bowing his head regally and inquiring, "What would you have of us, Sire?"

Leaning back in his chair, Caspian glanced at Telfonus, who just nodded with a very small shrug, as if to say, _You're the king, boy. Make the decision._ He looked back at his two field men, narrowing dark eyes thoughtfully.

"I cannot have these little incidents cropping up, gentlemen. If we're to be a united kingdom, we have to have the lords with us, not secretly hoarding these little bouts of peevishness. Continue as you've been, please. And feel free to stamp out _any _brush fires you come across, if you would." He arched an eyebrow. "And pass those orders along to the legion commanders as well." Caspian and Telfonus shared a glance. "Inspire them to use their …creativity…when it comes to it."

Rainstone too lifted an inquisitive eyebrow, but Manfred's grin covered his entire face. "It shall be as you say, Your Majesty," he intoned solemnly, rising from his chair and bowing with a creak of armor. "We live but to serve you."

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Again, I apologize. I did exactly what I said I wasn't going to do. I threw words in a file and uploaded it. For that, I bow my head in contrition and apologize to you, dear readers. My editor was quite harsh in her comments, thus I have been properly chastised. So, bearing all that in mind, I now offer the _true _Chapter Eight.

* * *

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

Caspian froze, hearing the smooth dulcet tones. But he forced himself to turn around and bow correctly to the Royal Princess, standing just behind him.

Melissande curtsied in turn, giving him a smile. The king had to admit that the woman _was_ beautiful. He'd never before seen a creature as perfectly flawless as this princess. Everything about her was regal; her movements, her speech, her manner and appearance. Yes, she was perfectly suited to become a queen.

Caspian just wasn't sure he really wanted her as _his. _What he'd told the professor a few days ago still played heavily on his mind; he didn't know this girl and now he was supposed to become her husband? The notion was staggering. Still, Telfonus' words regarding the matter were still fresh in his mind as well. Perhaps he should give it a chance, at least get to _know_ the princess before making any final decisions.

"Good morning, Your Highness," he replied, returning her greeting.

She stepped forward and the king forced himself to remain in place, not bolt from the room like a frightened rabbit. He supposed that was his problem; the fact that he felt she looked upon him like a piece of meat, or perhaps a horse in need of serious taming. _Oh, grow up, Caspian! _he heard Telfonus snort. _Act like a _king_, boy, get your head out of your ass!_ Defiance in the thought of, _But it's not _your _life being manipulated here, General, _flared for a brief minute before royal protocol kicked in.

"I trust you're finding your visit here in Telmar a pleasant one," he heard himself saying, reflexively taking the hand she offered and inclining his head over the smooth pale skin.

Melissande laughed and Caspian was taken a bit aback to feel it ripple up his spine, setting the hairs at the back of his neck on end.

"Pleasant indeed, Sire," she replied softly, then her porcelain face crimped in a small pout. "But ever despairing, wishing to spend a bit more time with Telmar's king."

He chuckled ruefully. "Ah. Yes. Well. Affairs of state and all. My most sincere apologies, Your Highness."

Gently tossing black curls, the princess smiled. "Think naught of it, Sire. I understand your schedule must be frightfully full, with such a vast kingdom to run." Thick black lashes coquettishly lowered over bright blue eyes as she inquired girlishly, "But might I steal my lord away for a bit? If only for the pleasure of his company? I would very much like to see more of this beautiful land, Majesty."

Caspian was a soldier; he'd fought in a few battles. Thus he realized the need for a tactical retreat, but unfortunately, his regiments had all deserted him in the heat. So, he was more or less trapped. In all honesty, there was only one answer he could give her.

"Of course, Your Highness."

* * *

Alandra had woken earlier with their songs still playing over and over in her mind. She'd been sitting before her window for hours, running a brush through her long auburn hair, staring out over the lush green landscape. Her green eyes were dreamy, far, far away from this place of thatch and wood, they only seeing the beauty that remained imbedded in this land, breathed from its very surface with every rising and setting sun.

As she'd known they would, her dreams had been sweet, gilded with memory and magic. She'd flitted through Narnia's forest, romped over the grasslands with a band of centaurs, danced around the bonfires with the satyrs and fauns, and stood atop the highest waterfall beside the unicorn, watching the stars as they slowly began to emerge in the softening night.

Yet, through all this wonder, she'd not been alone. No, not alone. A king had walked beside her, kept pace with even her most frenzied flights through this dreamscape. But she'd not felt restrained by his presence. Quite the contrary. He'd been the one to show her the way, to point out all the marvelous sights in the silver-gilded world. Speaking quietly, his accent foreign but smooth, the king had brought the world to life before her starry eyes, awakening her to the magic he'd rediscovered in his own kingdom.

And their songs had belled through the lands, signaling to one and all that a Son of Adam and a Daughter of Eve once again walked in Narnia, bringing their own magic to the spirits and creatures there.

_Caspian…_His name had been first upon her lips 'ere she opened her eyes, for his smilingly handsome face had been the last one she'd seen before she left that magical dream.

It brought a smile to her face now, even as she pondered. Strange, she'd only known him for a mere four days, but somehow she felt just as comfortable in his presence as she did her own brother, whom she loved to absolute distraction. She'd not forgotten their first meeting in the courtyard, the strange feeling of _familiarity_ that had assailed her upon the touch of their hands. Alandra grinned; never mind that his had been covered in dirt.

But the oddness of it still puzzled her. _How_ had she known him? _Why_ had she been so overwhelmed? Was it the magic? For Caspian was a part of Narnia; surely a bit of that residual magic clung to all its inhabitants. Perhaps there _was_ no logical reason for it, and to be perfectly honest with herself, she didn't care enough to dwell upon it. It was an instinctual feeling and most often than not, those could not be explained. One simply had to take it upon faith.

A bit later, the soft rapping upon her chamber door pulled her from her dreamy reverie.

"Landy?" she heard Tristan calling. "Are you dressed?"

Giggling, Alandra pulled on her long robe and crossed to the door, opening it a crack and peering out to see her brother's tousled blond hair and wrinkled white shirt. Trust Tristan to forgo the niceties.

"Mostly," she answered with a grin. "Why?"

His grin was just as infectious. "Just wondering," he replied, hiding a yawn. "C'mon, let me in."

She stepped back from the door to let him inside and moved back to her window as her brother shambled across the room to flop in her still-unmade bed. Taking a seat back at the sill, she arched an eyebrow at him, sprawled sideways across the counterpane.

"Didn't you sleep?" she queried with sisterly nosiness, resuming her brushing.

Tristan didn't bother to lift his head to answer, "A bit. I kept dreaming about walking trees. They kept wanting to _play _with me, Landy. Even the sprouts." He shuddered. "Just unnatural, that's what it is."

Her laughter pealed through the room, she couldn't help it. "Oh, Tristan! You should consider yourself fortunate to be called friend." Her grin was mischievous. "I hate to think what would have happened if they _hadn't_ liked you, dear brother."

Tristan snorted, rolling over to his side and propping his head on a crooked elbow. "Messy, more like. I was chatting with a few of the soldiers here-abouts; some of 'em veterans of their little war. They told some hair-raising tales about those trees, let me tell you. How the shot their roots all the way across that plain and demolished mangonels larger than two towers high." His eyes twinkled deviously. "Sent those Telmarines squalling, they did. Coupled with the minotaurs, centaurs, and Aslan Himself…I do believe I'd have turned tail too."

Alandra blinked slowly. "Aslan…" Stories of the Great Lion rang through her memory. The myth surrounding the creation of their realm, the tales of the White Witch, which lead to the glory years of Cair Paravel, with the Kings and Queens upon the throne. The Home Across the Sea, where Aslan was said to live in peace and harmony, ever vigilant to Narnia's need.

"I wish I could have seen him," she added wistfully, gazing out of the window as she paused in her brushing.

Tristan lay there watching his baby sister, lips pursed in thought. He loved her dearly, of course, but sometimes wished she'd never come here, because he feared it would be so very hard for her to leave. And Caspian hadn't helped matters any the other day, exposing her to the magic of Narnia. And Tristan would give anything to spare her any sort of discomfort, pain or loss.

The thought that had come to him yesterday returned; Alandra should have been the eldest. Tristan sighed softly. Melissande would be miserable in Narnia, and would do her best to make sure all around her knew and shared that misery. But, he was as helpless to change it as anyone. Their father had spoken and his will would be done.

He'd actually come to Alandra's room to snicker at the fact that their older sister had finally snagged the king for some "quality time" together. Tristan had seen them walking about down below in the courtyard and he'd immediately recognized Melissande in her full "impressionable" mode. Meaning she was smiling, laughing, more than likely outrageously flirting and presenting her absolute _best _behavior to ensure good opinions of all she graced with her divine presence.

But now, watching his younger sibling sitting quietly before her window humming the melody she'd discovered two days ago, he was privately thankful he hadn't mentioned it. Tristan was afraid events would repeat themselves, and he devoutly prayed not.

Just a short year ago, Alandra had met the Baron Harpin's eldest son, Geoff, while he was in the capital studying at the University. Due to a few common interests – and, Tristan found out later, the princess' royal connections – Alandra had become very enamored of this youthful baronet. Geoff responded in kind and a friendship sprang up between the two. Alandra had been so excited to be courted by the heir of such a grand estate, and it didn't hurt either that Geoff was also tall, handsome and perfectly mannered.

Unfortunately, the baron's heir took full advantage of the youngest princess' naiveté, using her influence to gain access to the lovely Melissande. Tristan recalled that horrible day when Geoff cancelled an engagement with Alandra only to appear at the same court function escorting her elder sister. Tristan had pounded on Alandra's door for hours, trying to get her to unbolt it so he could offer what comfort he could. In the end, she'd refused and the Archduke's heir was forced to relive his anger on another target.

He flexed his knuckles, recalling the split and bloody skin decorating his hands after he'd taught that heathen bastard the _poor_ decision of mistreating his younger sister. Melissande had been properly outraged, of course, because how _dare_ Geoff abuse her sister so, only to turn around and pursue _her _affections as well! What an imbecile! Gray eyes rolled; Melissande had neither cared nor worried for Alandra's feelings. Yet she had quite enjoyed denouncing Geoff Harpin before the entire Anvard court once Alandra fled from the ballroom in tears.

Afterwards, the youngest princess had burrowed deeper into her books and stories, most of the time refusing to even appear at social functions. The Archduke had to practically _order _her to make her requisite appearance; after she'd smiled, curtsied and greeted those she was supposed to, she'd just quietly disappear from the throng, retiring to either her quarters or the library.

It pained her brother. He didn't want her to be a recluse forever; he wanted to see her happy, enjoying life as she'd done in the forest of Narnia. But she was a tender heart, so trusting so quickly. Just like the Archduke, Alandra pulled her emotions deep inside, providing the world with either a pleasantly smiling countenance or a cold stand-offish wall of inapproachability. Tristan sighed; he _wished_ she'd inherited something _else_ from their father besides that.

She turned from the window and smiled at him; he returned it and sat up on the feather-filled mattress. No matter what, she was still his baby sister and he would always see her as such, the short wobbling brat that had clonked him atop the head with her wooden toy horse after learning to walk. He'd squalled, but he'd always been the first one there to help her back up, alerted by her sniffles and whimpers that she'd taken a tumble.

Tristan really didn't want to have to break his fists against a Telmarine head, especially a _kingly_ one. "What are you staring at, Tristy?" Her light voice brought him from his internal reverie.

He smirked at her. "Oh, just the same little brat that used to pull my hair and kick me in the stomach when we scuffled."

Her scowl made him laugh and she stuck out her tongue, which made him snicker harder. He bounced to his feet, crossing the room to plunk down in the large wicker chair, kicking his boots up on the footstool.

"Get dressed," he ordered peremptorily. "It's boring, lazing about the entire day."

Alandra cocked an eyebrow at her nonchalant brother. "You're one to talk. You'd sleep till noon if Jarvis didn't rout you out of bed at a decent hour."

On cue, Tristan yawned. "So? I'm a growing boy. Growing boys need their sleep."

"Ha! You'd get decent sleep if you weren't prowling the halls all night long, chasing some poor harried maid, driving her to distraction with your antics!"

Tristan's hurt expression looked genuine, but Alandra had known her brother too long. She wasn't convinced. He finally smirked and rose from his chair, ambling over to muss her brushed hair, resulting in her swatting him on the shoulder with the brush and shooing him from her room so she could dress for the day.

A little later, Alandra and Tristan strolled the corridors companionably; Tristan was itching to visit the armory, to see how Telmarine weapons differed from those he knew. Enjoying the gorgeous spring morning, Alandra followed along, content to let her brother lead the way.

Yet she nearly lost her breath as they emerged into the smithy. There, standing just ten feet away was a _centaur_! The creature was massive, possessing the full-sized body of a horse with human proportions to match. The beast was currently examining a large broadsword the smith was holding up for inspection.

"I think it'll do you, Rainstone," another soldier was saying, apparently one of some eminence, judging from the decorations on his own plate mail.

"Perhaps," the centaur rumbled, taking the enormous blade in one of his huge hands and peering intently at the blade. "Still, when next we ride to my homelands, I should have Father refit it." Clearly non-human ears twitched as if in mirth. "Father can do far better with steel than these Telmarine smiths."

Alandra expected the castle smithy to be offended, but the portly man just chuckled. "I'll not argue that point," he agreed. "That blade there's a work of craftsmanship, my friend. I bow to superior talent."

The decorated soldier laughed and, looking up, took notice of their visitors.

"Ah, good morrow, Highness," he greeted Tristan with a florid nod.

Tristan nodded, recognizing this sergeant from the council meeting this morning – the one he'd purposefully missed and arrived just as it was breaking up, rather. "Good morning, Sergeant Scythley."

The centaur shifted about, his hooves crisp on the stone. Alandra was mesmerized. She couldn't take her eyes off the wondrous creature. In turn, Rainstone stared back at her, as if searching for something, for a thin line of concentration furrowed between his eyebrows.

Before she could blink, even breathe, the centaur walked forward past the sergeant, stopping at a halt before the princess. Tristan opened his mouth to make the introductions, but before he could, everyone stared as Rainstone suddenly went to one equine knee, bowing low before Alandra, his human torso dipped nearly to the ground.

"Hail, Majesty," he intoned formally, head still lowered. "Your servant greets thee."

Alandra was still frozen stock-still. She blinked, trying to untie her tongue from its myriad knots, but finally took a deep quiet breath and returned the formal greeting, dipping into a low curtsy before this noble creature.

"Hail, noble one," she murmured quietly. "I bid thee rise."

She didn't why the old speech tripped so easily from her tongue, but the centaur responded, rising to his full height once again. She stared up at him, eyes wide as he in turn, gazed down at her.

Tristan and the others were still wide-eyed and speechless as Rainstone continued. "I am called Rainstone, eldest son of Glenstorm, leader of all centaurs. I have the honor to serve the King of Narnia, the one I know as friend."

Alandra swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat. "I am Alandra, youngest child of Bornen, Archduke of Archenland." She smiled tentatively, gently correcting his misperception. "I am not a Majesty, noble Rainstone, merely a Highness."

Rainstone shook his dark head. "Long has it been since a Daughter of Eve walked in Narnia, Majesty. You have the scent of the woods about you. They have taken you for their Queen. And so shall I give my allegiance."

Alandra saw Tristan's eyebrows lift a good three inches, as did Sergeant Scythley's. The smith just blinked, as if trying to figure out just what he'd missed.

She tried again. "Dear Rainstone. My sister will be Narnia's Queen. It is she who will marry your king."

The centaur shook his head again, but the sergeant smoothly stepped in, saying, "Titles and eminence, all a bunch of nonsense, really. Come, let's go outside and get a bit of air. It's dreadfully hot in here." He winked at the smith, who snorted and went back to patching the centaur's chestplate.

Tristan smirked at the sergeant as they headed out of the smithy. "You're going to start a revolution, talking like that."

Scythley shrugged. "Perhaps. Maybe it's time for one," he joked, laughing.

Alandra was unable to take her eyes off the centaur. He looked exactly as she'd pictured him. Noting her staring, Rainstone chuckled.

"Why do you stare, Majesty?" he inquired softly. "Have you never seen one of us before?"

Dumbly, she shook her head. "No, never," she confessed. "Although I've _dreamed_ of it." Her hand rose before she could stop it, but she finally threw reins on her traitorous appendage just shy of the centaur's equine shoulder. Biting her lip, she muttered, "Sorry," under her breath, feeling no end of embarrassment.

Rainstone chuckled, shaking back his long dark curls. "Do not be afraid, my Queen. If it will please you, by all means."

Her eyes flew upwards, not quite believing what she'd just heard. Seeing Rainstone cordially nod, she hesitated only a moment before placing her hand atop the dark fur, feeling the powerful muscles sliding under the skin. _Incredible_. That was the only word she could attribute to it. She was standing in the courtyard of Telmar Castle, petting a _centaur._ Alandra thought she might squeal with excitement, but such was far from decorous.

Rainstone didn't seem to mind, however; he indulged her curiosity and patiently answered the questions she peppered to him, once her initial shyness abated. He gestured for her to walk about the courtyard with him, calmly striding at her side, her hand still pressed to his side.

"My father remains at Cair Paravel with many of my people," he told her. "King Caspian has ordered it rebuilt, which is good for Narnia. Its people held that monument dear, and 'tis wonderful to see it being restored to its former glory."

"I have heard of the great Glenstorm," Alandra nodded. "He must be a great…father," she faltered; truly, one couldn't call the centaur a _man_.

Rainstone chuckled. "He is. He has led our clans for many years. He is both wise and kind. I am privileged to be called his son."

The centaur went on to impart to her how his people were once proud warriors, but when the Telmarines first invaded they retreated back into the forest, unable to fight the unstoppable wave of humans into their homelands. They became nomads and archers, often striking from great distances, since the horses of the humans were no match for the powerful swift centaurs, who knew the ways and trails of the forest and quickly disappeared amongst the trees.

It wasn't until Glenstorm, who was given the task of watching the sky for portents, saw the houses come together in the night sky and prophesized to his people that a Son of Adam would come into Narnia again; he would come to bind them together, come to lead them back into freedom. And one had.

The centaurs had immediately rallied behind the Prince Caspian, offering their swords and their lives to the young prince. Then came the Kings and Queens of old, whom the Prince had summoned with Queen Susan's own horn. They had taken back Narnia for the Narnians, but at a price nearly insurmountable. Rainstorm's voice fell quiet when he spoke of his brothers, two of which had died here on these very stones. But they had understood, he said, when their father saluted them from the bridge, that they were dying so others might live, live to see their homelands restored to glory and peace once again.

"Thus were their deaths not in vain," he finished quietly, walking slowly around the courtyard. "For Narnia is now free, and our people roam without fear once again. And we are protecting that peace, at whatever cost, my Queen."

This time, Alandra didn't bother to correct him; she was blinking back tears at the centaur's noble words. It humbled her heart to hear, but she'd known it all along. She'd even witnessed it firsthand. The magic was reborn in the kingdom of Narnia. And she desperately wished she could be a part of it.

They continued to walk and chat until the smithy came from his forge and announced the armor repaired. Rainstone, with another deep bow to the princess, left her side to examine it and adjust the fit. Tristan came up beside his sister, gently nudging her with his elbow.

"A real, live centaur, Landy. What a treat, eh?"

She didn't respond for a moment, but finally said without turning her head, "You've no idea, Tristy."

He chuckled, putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her a bit. "I'm glad you got to see one."

"He," she corrected him absently, watching the smith fasten the straps around Rainstone's human back. "His name is Rainstone and he's the eldest son of Glenstorm, the centaur that led them in the Narnian battles. Truly wondrous."

Tristan lifted an eyebrow. "Really. How interesting. Delightful chap, then?"

Now, she gave him a long-suffering look, to which he flushed sheepishly. "Very delightful," she replied nevertheless. "A great noble creature. I so want to meet his father." She turned and gazed off towards the deep forest. "We need to go to Cair Paravel, Tristan. I want to see the castle."

Tristan blinked as she meandered off, still staring at the treeline. "Er…that's a long ways off, Landy," he reminded her. "Caspian said it's a good day's ride. Besides, you remember what happened the _last _time we took off like that."

Alandra shrugged. "Perhaps. Still. I want to see it, Tristan. I want to see the Sea of the East and the Lone Islands." She shook her head. "I can't explain it, but somehow I _have_ to."

Tristan looked seriously at his sister, seeing the rapt longing on her face. _I can explain it, little Landy. You're falling in love with this land. _He sighed. _Father never should have brought you here…for I fear that heartache will follow you home, baby sister. And if I could, I'd take you to the Great Lion Himself, but I think it'll be more complicated than that…_

He saw her climb atop the low stone wall and just sit, gazing out over the plain that led to the Narnian forest. Plowing a hand through blond hair, the young man wondered if he should say something to his father, but dismissed it. Bornen would be furious with him for "meddling" and Melissande would doubtless break his ears with her shrill shrieks.

Nevertheless, he feared that his youngest sister was headed for trouble, the longer she stayed in Narnia. And, had Tristan known the truth, he would have been shocked to realize just what forces were indeed working both for good and ill here in this place of magic and wonder.

_To be continued..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to everyone still reading. And for bearing with me. You guys are awesome. I like this chapter too. And do forgive me for following in the footsteps of everyone else writing for the fandom in terms of the "language thing". I think it's cool, so hush.

Anyways, enjoy folks. I know I did. -Sib

* * *

After the departure of Rainstone, Sergeant Lord Scythley and their platoon of Telmarine soldiers and centaur archers, Alandra left her brother to his own amusements and wandered back into the castle, meandering down the halls until she paused before the professor's open door. Peeking inside, she hesitantly rapped knuckles on the doorframe, seeing him turn about from his work.

"Ah!" he smiled warmly in greeting, waving her inside. "Good morning, Your Highness. Please, please come in! No need to be so shy," he chuckled, indicating the chair opposite his desk.

Giving him a soft smile in return, she slipped inside and into the chair, inhaling the scent of parchment and ink, so familiar in this still-alien world. "Good morning, Doctor," she greeted in kind. "I trust I find you well this morning?"

Cornelius chuckled, settling back in his large chair. "Indeed, my dear child. As well as possible on such a lovely morning." Tenting his hands atop his papers, he gazed at her over his spectacles. "And what brings you to my study today, if I may ask?"

Alandra shrugged one shoulder, tossing back a loose lock of hair. "Oh, well. There's nothing really requiring my royal presence just now, so I thought I might slip into a corner with one of your books."

The professor laughed quietly, shaking his grey head. "Dear child, nothing would please me more." He waved a hand at the cluttered bookshelves lining the walls. "Help yourself."

Grinning like a child, Alandra darted to her feet and went to the nearest bookshelf, speculatively browsing the collected scrolls and books strewn about. She brushed fingers against a peculiar tome and, out of curiosity, pulled it from the shelf and opened the thick leather cover. Alandra skimmed the page, but frowned as she realized the words were written in an unfamiliar language. Turning around, she brought the book to Cornelius' desk.

"Professor," she said slowly, still flipping through the pages, "what language is this?"

"Hm?" Cornelius adjusted his spectacles and peered down at the page she showed him. "Ah," he said at last, "that is the old language of Telmar."

He looked up at her, smiling to her minute frown. "When our ancestors first came to this land, they didn't speak the same tongue as those already here. So, they wrote down ledgers in their native hand. It was much later, from what history tells us, that they were able to communicate with the others and finally learned the common tongue, which is what most Telmarines speak now."

She nodded absently, fingers still feathering over the pages. But her eyes twinkled as she said, "As well as your _strange_ accent, good professor."

Cornelius chuckled, folding his hands over his paunch. "Indeed, dear. But no less odd than the Archenlunder style," he teased a bit. "Although yours seems to have more lilt, very much like the Kings and Queens of old."

Alandra glanced up, fascinated. "Really?"

"Indeed, my dear." Cornelius nodded. "They spoke the common tongue, but with a more relaxed sound than our own Telmarine speech."

She digested this for a moment, then turned back to the book. "What does this say?" she asked, pointing to the first line written.

The professor peered over and opened his mouth, but it wasn't _his_ voice which answered. Alandra stifled a yelp as she heard the same smooth dulcet voice – the very same one she'd heard all night long in her dreams – say, "It reads, 'To the people of Telmar, I leave this account of our proud history here in this beautiful kingdom…'"

Alandra whirled around to see Caspian's grinning face, dark eyes twinkling down at her. She scowled at him for a moment, but was unable to stay thus for very long; the king's mischievous smile was addictive.

"Good morning, Princess," he said with a florid bow. "I see you've discovered one of my old textbooks." He winked at the professor. "The doctor used to take great delight by tormenting me to learn the old language."

Cornelius snorted and lit his pipe, the sweet smell of tobacco filling the study. Alandra giggled and picked up the book. "So, this was your history book, hm?"

Caspian nodded. "Indeed." He reached around her to point at a very small scrawl in the bottom corner of the first page. "See? My very first royal signature."

Squinting, Alandra could just make out the very small letters that read _Caspian X._ She lifted an eyebrow at the Telmarine king. "Very noble, Your Majesty," she gently teased, earning his low laugh.

He shrugged. "It became worse in time. The professor said I would never have kingly handwriting."

"Try indecipherable," Cornelius grumbled, not looking up from his reading.

Alandra hid a laugh behind her hand as Caspian made a face at his tutor. "Thank you, professor," he replied tartly.

She was amazed at the level of camaraderie the king had with his teacher. Sometimes they seemed like father and son, rather than pupil and mentor. Well, considering that Caspian too had lost a parent early in life, she could well understand his attachment to the kindly old man. Lowering her eyes to the book still in her hands, she realized that she'd never been close to anyone besides her brother. And certainly not any of her governesses. Those older ladies had been starched and prim, often driven to exasperation with her love of reading anything _but _what they'd assigned her.

A rough brown finger curling beneath her chin lifted her head, bringing her from her internal reverie. "What's wrong?" Caspian asked, dark eyes concerned.

Alandra shook her head, reassuring him with a soft smile. "Oh, nothing, Sire. Just musing, is all."

Seizing the opportunity – and to keep from dwelling on her dark thoughts – Alandra clutched the book a little tighter, saying, "Come, Caspian. Read a bit of this for me. Or teach me the words." Book in one hand, she grabbed his arm in the other and took both to the small desk in the corner, effectively plunking the king in a chair and the book on the table, pulling 'round the small stool to sit beside him.

Cornelius watched in benign amusement as his liege suffered the princess' dictation – in all honesty, the professor didn't expect the young king to object _too _much anyway. Seeing Caspian's dark head bending down next to Alandra's, they both leaning over the book as he began speaking quietly, Cornelius hid his grin behind his pipe, exhaling sweet smoke that rose to the ceiling.

He couldn't help feeling that this diplomatic visit was a _good_ thing for his king. Since the death of his father, Caspian had never been able to get close to anyone; with the exception of his teacher, all the 'friends' the boy made somehow disappeared by the machinations of his uncle, Miraz.

Although the professor couldn't quite agree with the betrothal documentation – truly, the last thing Caspian needed right now was a wife – he was nonetheless grateful for the Archduke's other two children. Tristan was of an age with Caspian and seemed to be a genial good-hearted lad, quick to smile and embracing a love for life exhibited in most youths of such a nature.

And the Princess Alandra…the professor was also exceedingly thankful for her inquisitiveness. Her yearning to know the magical lands of Narnia had quickly bonded her to the young king, allowing him to share the wonder and knowledge he'd learned during his sovereignty. Plus, the professor felt that every young man liked to preen and show off a bit for a pretty young girl, and, judging from his sire's rapt attention to his charge, he figured Caspian no different than any other lad.

The professor smiled into his scroll. Despite everything else, Alandra was Caspian's _friend_. And that, he felt, was far more important than a royal bride could ever be.

* * *

"_Hola._"

"Hola."

Caspian shook his head. "Mm-mm. Drop the 'h'. _Ooola_", he said again, drawing out the first syllable.

Alandra pursed her lips and tried again. No matter _how_ many times she attempted it, the words always sounded wrong. When Caspian's smirk told her it still sounded silly, she grumpily crossed her arms and leaned back against the stone with a huff.

"Oh, just forget it, I'll never get it right!" she carped, savagely kicking her slippered foot against the low wall upon which they sat.

They'd migrated from the professor's study to their former battlement, enjoying the clear sunshine and the breeze that whipped the flags from the tower domes. Alandra was perched on the wall, leaning against the tower while Caspian lounged next to her, elbow propped on the wall and booted ankles comfortably crossed.

He'd been snickering at her for the last hour, taking his amusement from her flusteredness at _trying _to pronounce a few of the old Telmarine words.

"Listen to me, Alandra. _Hola_," he said again. "It's easy, princess."

Her glower only made him grin wider. Licking her lips, she sat up primly and tried again, wondering if she'd end up tying her tongue in a knot before the end of the lesson.

Screwing up her lips, she finally blurted, "_Hola…_?" and was treated to Caspian's toothy smile and his clap of well-done.

"Very good," he congratulated dryly. "You finally managed to say 'hello' properly."

Alandra snorted and swiped at his head. "Oh! You!" she blustered glowering as he simply ducked out of reach with a laugh.

Straightening, he pushed back his wind-blown hair and said, "Now, shall we go on?"

"Oh, _please_, sire, do, yes." Fluttering her lashes, Alandra couldn't help simpering at him.

Caspian arched an eyebrow her way, but continued nevertheless. "All right. _Bienvenido a Telmar_. 'Welcome to Telmar'," he translated.

It took Caspian a great deal of repeating himself, but he had to admit it was worth it, so see her get so frustrated over such a simple thing. He couldn't help it, every time Alandra mispronounced a word – which was quite often – her cheeks would flush becomingly and she'd scowl hard enough to shatter rocks.

He tried to keep the words small and simple, but somehow she just couldn't slant her accent enough to have them roll from her tongue as smoothly as they did from his. _Su Agudeza. _'Your Highness'. _Su Majestad_. 'Your Majesty'. _Rey_. 'King'. _Reina_. 'Queen'. _Princesa_. 'Princess'. By the end of another hour, she'd learned all the words he'd taught her, even though her accent was still atrocious. He'd hopped up atop the wall to sit beside her, booted foot propped on the small overhanging ledge as he straddled the block.

"Very good, Princess," Caspian grinned, eyes twinkling at her small pleased smile. "I'm somewhat surprised."

Alandra giggled, assuming an imperious air. "I'm not quite that ignorant, _Majestad,_" she drawled, earning his chortle of delight.

He shook his head. "_Concuerdo completamente, Princesa dulce,_" he replied with a smug little grin.

She pouted a little. "_Now_, what did you say, cretin!" she demanded, poking his arm playfully.

Caspian shrugged, answering, "I just said that I agreed with you, Princess."

Her arch look suggested she didn't believe him, but his grin remained just as genuine. He watched her push a lock of hair behind her ear and she asked, "Say something else, Caspian, please?"

The king thought about it for a moment, dark eyes drinking in her eager upturned countenance. The afternoon sun was warm on her cheek, setting to light the brown flecks deep in green eyes. Her face was animated and sincere; no hidden agendas, no games to be played against a political adversary. This woman didn't look at him like a haunch of beef.

Caspian had to twitch his lips to keep from snickering. _An untamed horse, maybe, but not in the sense that her sister might, but rather simply because she loves horses._ With these thoughts and more running pell-mell through his mind, the Narnian king opened his mouth and the words flowed gentle and smooth from his lips.

"_La princesa, usted es una señora suficiente digna para aún el rey más alto, para gobernar al lado de él para toda eternidad con su belleza y gracia..._" Almost as an afterthought, he added quietly, "_Hace que podría ser jamás tal rey suficiente digno..._"

He watched her listen, saw the way the words smoothed over her ears in the way her eyes drifted closed and her lips parted on a gentle smile.

"Oh, lovely, Caspian. Such a beautiful language." Green eyes opened again and blinked at him. "What did you say?"

Somewhat belatedly realizing what he _had_ said, the Telmarine king felt his cheeks heating somewhat awkwardly and he lowered his eyes, a sheepish grin slanting his lips.

"Well," he finally admitted, tracing small circles on the dry rock with one fingertip, "I said that you were a lovely princess, kind and gentle, worthy enough to be a queen."

Two soft spots of color bloomed on her cheeks and she ducked her head shyly, nervously pushing back her wind-tousled hair. "Now I _know_ you're teasing," she jested lightly, twining her fingers together in her lap. "What did you _really _say, Caspian?"

His grin was her only answer but he couldn't help chuckling at her pouty scowl. Winking at her, he reached out and gently tapped the end of her nose, quipping, "Nosy, nosy princess."

Alandra wrinkled her nose and pushed his hand away, but laughed with him.

Unbidden, thoughts of his morning entered his head and Caspian sobered, staring down at the stone beneath him. He supposed he should mention it; he'd rather it not come as a shock to her.

"After the council meeting this morning…" he bit his lip, wishing he didn't have to say it, "…Melissande cornered me into," here his brow furrowed as he tried to remember what she'd called it, "…an 'outing'. She wanted to see more of the town and asked me to show her." He arched a dark eyebrow, expression thoughtful. "…it was odd, at the least."

Alandra blinked. But she honestly wasn't surprised. In truth, she'd wondered what had been taking her sister so long. Usually when Melissande had her eyes on a target, she wasted little to no time in hunting it down, wounding it mortally, then devouring the unfortunate on the spot. Alandra supposed that her elder sister had needed time to recover from her misperceptions of the Telmarine King.

But she could see Caspian was a bit unsure about it, so she tried to put him at his ease. Reaching forward, she took his hand, gently lacing his fingers with hers and smiled.

"She's just trying to get to know you, Caspian. You two _are _engaged, you know." By the stars above, but it pained her to say such aloud! Nevertheless, she went on in a calm gentle voice, "I'd be a bit flummoxed too, if someone arrived on my doorstep and announced himself to be my husband, especially when I'd never met him before!"

He smiled half-heartedly at her attempt at levity, but still returned his eyes to the stone, resolutely biting the inside of his lip.

Alandra sighed, tightening her fingers. "Caspian, I don't know what to say to ease your mind about it. I _can _say, however, that Melissande is a…" she groped about for a minute, "…proper lady," she finally settled for, "and would make a wonderful queen for your kingdom."

The king peeked up at her through dark lashes. "Even if the very thought of her as my wife makes me cold all over? Alandra, I don't _want_ to marry her! I never did!"

Caspian jumped off the wall, falling to pacing atop the battlement, raking a hand through his already disheveled hair. The afternoon was waning, the sun slowly falling in the west. The breeze blew the king's loose white tunic – he'd not bothered to tuck it in – and fluttered Alandra's long pale blue skirts around her feet, as well as tossed her hair around her shoulders as she sat silently.

"When Telfonus came to Cair Paravel with the news of my betrothal, I was shocked beyond belief," he confessed finally. "I spent the entire night frantically thinking of ways to get out of it. But when the professor showed me the document, I realized it was worded just carefully enough to leave very damned little room for political maneuvering." He paused and gave her a dark glance as he added, "Believe me, we tried."

Falling back to pacing, he snorted and spun about again. "What I don't understand is why _now_. I turned twenty four months ago. Why did your father wait?"

Alandra examined her shoes carefully, not wanting to seem like she was staring as he flitted restlessly back and forth. But the question made her brows furrow as she thought about it.

"…it wasn't father," she heard herself saying, causing Caspian to pause and cock his head in inquiry.

Lifting her head to meet his eyes, she said again, "It wasn't father. It was Melissande who wanted to wait." Looking aside again, she tried to recall and added, "She said that if father didn't give her time to prepare a proper nuptial trunk, she'd never forgive him and would make life miserable until her wedding."

One of her eyebrows lifted as she snorted softly. "I thought that quite a shaky excuse, seeing as she's had two score _years _to prepare for this little event. I'd have wagered the delay due to the weather, seeing how your birthday's in the winter, Sire." She gave him a little smile, then shrugged one shoulder. "But she was adamant that he wait. Finally he grew tired of it and delivered his orders, so here we are."

Caspian stared back at her, one of his own eyebrows slowly rising. "A spring wedding?" he echoed incredulously. Then he shuddered. "Aslan save me, _please_."

He circled around once more, then stopped back at his former spot, thumping back against the stone wall with a tired sigh. Elbows propped on the wall, he leaned his head back, eyes closed. Alandra bit her lower lip. _It just wasn't fair_, she thought petulantly. He didn't deserve all these headaches. Least of _all_ her spoiled perfect sister.

Greatly daring, she leaned closer and carefully feathered rebellious black hair away from his temple. She felt him tense, but he didn't open his eyes, just very slightly leaned into her touch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, prompting his eyes to open then. "I wish there was something I could do, but…" She trailed off with a small girlish shrug, once again slipping her fingers through soft dark hair.

But it nearly toppled her from the wall when Caspian turned around and casually looped his arms around her waist and quite promptly nestled his head in her lap, his cheek resting against her thigh. Biting her tongue to keep from squeaking like an idiot, Alandra did well not to flounder like an idiot schoolgirl, realizing that this was probably just like the last time, when he'd leaned against her for comfort and reassurance.

So, she told herself not to be a goose and let her hand settle atop his head, gentle curious fingers softly stroking through his thick black hair. She heard a soft sigh escape his chest; the sound gently rumbled against her knee and she had to smile. Apparently she was doing well, for Caspian's eyes remained closed and a very slight smile curved his lips as he took refuge against her.

Alandra continued her petting for a while, secretly reveling in this closeness with the Narnian king. She'd not known what to expect here in this magical land, but was inwardly thrilled at what she'd so far discovered. Magic, an awakening of her own soul, and a new friend she'd seemed to have known all along. It was indeed wondrous.

She felt him nuzzle her gently and he opened one eye a crack to glance up at her. Dimly, she heard him ask, "I don't suppose you'd consider switching places, would you?"

Pausing in her ministrations, she looked down at him, a bit puzzled. "Switching places? With whom?"

A slight hesitation, then, "Your sister."

Alandra blinked, not understanding. "Melissande? Why on earth would I want to…" Her eyes widened as she stared straight ahead, a slow flush creeping her cheeks. "…oh. Um."

Her hand fell still as Caspian lifted his head, staring into wide green eyes. Alandra fought not to fidget under that steady gaze. Finally, she recovered enough breath to whisper, "Why?"

"Just curious," he shrugged, returning his head to its former resting place. She carefully resumed her quiet stroking, running her fingers through his hair, enjoying the softness against her hand.

Caspian was slowly falling still under her gentle touch. The Narnian King was surely a weak-kneed boy when it came to such maternal tenderness. His mother had died the same night as his father; it bothered him that he could barely recall her face or the sound of her voice. But he'd always remember how she'd sit on the side of his bed at night and stroke his hair until he fell asleep.

Ten years later, that boy-turned-man and king stood atop a battlement of his castle, dark head comfortably pillowed in the lap of a lovely princess, and he stood immobile, holding her close as he rested against her. He felt the warmth of her hand, smooth on his brow. The softness of her skin, the care inherent in her touch. The slight rasp of her fingernails sliding over the back of his neck, which sent shivers racing down his spine. Breath hitched in his chest and he swallowed, forcing his suddenly twitching muscles to relax.

Caspian suppressed a shudder and carefully lifted his head; although loathe to lose her warmth and comfort, he figured it best to leave it be. He was the king, and she did not belong to him. Much as he damned that fact. But her hand remained pressed to his cheek as he straightened to stare at her, his arms still wound around her waist.

Biting the inside of his lip _hard_, Caspian closed his eyes and turned his head to press a soft kiss to her palm, taking her hand in his and saying – after gruffly clearing his throat, "We should go downstairs, Princess. It'll be time for supper soon."

He could have kicked himself for the small bit of disappointment she allowed to creep into her eyes. _Still, better that than the other_, he firmly told himself, knowing – as he had this morning – that it tasted a lie. But he put his hands around her waist and she placed hers on his shoulders as he lifted her down, so near to losing his good sense and rationality in the calm green depths.

Then Alandra smiled at him; that warm friendly smile that made his chest tighten something painful and Caspian forced himself to be the gentleman once again, holding open the door and bowing her inside.

_To be continued…_

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**Caspian's translations: **"I agree with you completely, sweet princess."

"Princess, you are a lady worthy enough for even the highest king, to rule beside him for all eternity with your beauty and grace."

"Would that I could ever be a worthy enough king..."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Notes: **Man, I'm exhausted. Okay. Little different chapter this time. But, since things are pretty much clipping along at the castle, I figure we can leave them to their own entertainments for a little while. We'll see about the mess when we get back, I'm sure. Anyway. Shorter chapter and I apologize. But you guys enjoy just the same; things are starting to happen around here! Where _will _we go next? -Sib

* * *

Many leagues to the north, far from the lush green Shuddering Wood, across the Great Narnia River and deep beyond the Owlwood Forest, a desolate lone hill rose from the blighted earth. The ground around it was hard, cold and strewn with rocks, sporting very little vegetation. The trees were pale imitations of their southern kin; the agonized trunks were cracked and twisted, their bare branches spread in a kind of crooked agony as they reached for the uncaring grey skies.

Very little life breathed here; twisted and misshapen creatures slithered to and fro, eking out a semblance of survival among the ravines and crags. In the middle of the diseased valley, the hill slumped in a kind of weary vigil, the mouth at the bottom gaping, yawning suggestively to any foolish enough to venture inside.

For inside, magic breathed. But it was not the wild, bright magic that soared through the southern part of Narnia. No, this magic was old and dark, content to breathe in the shadows of what once was, what had been. This darkness _remembered_. It recalled the frozen times before, over a thousand years ago, when the Witch of Charn had ruled Narnia in her frozen grip. It had reveled then, unchecked and abounding over the crystalline world. But _spring _had returned, forcing it to retreat deep into the earth, to sleep and dream of a world where chaos ran rampant, where blood soaked the earth and thunder split the skies.

A millennium passed. And it slept. But then, just two short years ago, the Great Lion's roar again split the air, shaking it from its slumber, bringing it forth into this new era, where wild, sweet magic once again soared through the woods, calling the creatures forth from their long exile. The darkness _seethed_; it _loathed_ such brightness, such goodness. And _peace_. Anger coursed through the shadows, sending whispers of hatred and vileness scuttling through the broken earth to those receptive to its voice.

And they had come. By the score. Those creatures of Narnia who had been part of it a thousand years before, those dark creatures who had served the Witch of Charn and shared her lust for chaos, for _power_.

Such a one now sat in the cavern beneath the hill, muttering to herself as she blithered in her madness. Skua, the harpy. She had heard the call two years ago and had been drawn from her nest high in the Northern Mountains. Upon arriving at the hill, the shadows had led her deeper and deeper into the gloom beneath the mountain, where her simple mind had been overwhelmed by the roiling magic trapped there.

Skua sat on the small stone perch, jerking imperceptibly as she mumbled indecipherable words. Harpies were odd creatures at the beginning, but the power infesting Skua had driven her completely mad. Only when the power manifested itself through her eyes did she possess any sort of sanity.

Strangely resembling a mix between a bat and a woman, the harpy sat on the perch just like a bird, her wide leathery wings folded down her ridged back. Bones protruded from her skin, which sagged on her lank frame like old folded parchment. Naked and bedraggled, Skua sometimes cackled and yanked sharp talons through her greasy tangled hair, which fell over her eyes and down her back, the stark blackness against her milky skin resembling cracks in stonework.

Every so often, colorless lips peeled back from sharp pointed teeth as she cackled, red eyes glowing in the dimness. But her eerie laughter soon faded and she was reduced to her incessant babbling yet again, only becoming animate when the magic roused inside her or one of the dark creatures brought prey to feed her.

As now. The flames in the grates flickered as a large minotaur rumbled in, rough cloth sack slung over its shoulder. The beast grunted and clopped near to Skua's perch, snorted once then tossed the wriggling sack at the stone's base.

Skua twitched, but didn't look up.

A sly black dwarf, who was more or less Skua's keeper, slipped around her perch and cut open the bag to reveal a child faun, no more than five years old. The little creature was crying and whimpering, struggling to get away, but escape was impossible due to its broken leg, which was mercilessly bent backwards at the knee. Tograt, the dwarf, smirked and prodded it with his knife, delighting in its mewls.

Skua finally took notice and looked down at the child, her red eyes eerily glowing. She suddenly shrieked and began flapping her large wings, stirring the dust about in the cavern. Tograt wisely backed out of reach as the harpy screamed again, echoed by the faun as the monster leapt from her perch and descended on the squalling child.

The fire briefly dimmed – perhaps in sympathy – as the sounds of cracking bone and the scent of blood flooded the cavern beneath the hill as the harpy sated her hunger, the powerful evil magic inside reveling in the essence of chaos it had created.

Sometime later, after the harpy had gorged herself and crawled painfully back atop her perch and the remains had been ferreted away by the numerous dark skitterlings that seethed in the shadows, Tograt watched as Skua labored, just fighting to breathe. Her stomach was stretched paper-thin, so much had she eaten.

But it was always the same. They brought her food and she devoured, until near to bursting. The dwarf couldn't even imagine what insatiable spirit dwelled within Skua's flesh; it made his own crawl to even contemplate such a notion.

Nevertheless, the canny Torgat was ever attentive to the harpy; it was she that housed the dark magic, it was her mouth that gave it voice. Privately, the dwarf felt that the power might have found a more desirable host; the harpy was a horrid mad creature, scarcely fit for death, let alone to be the messenger of the old powerful spirits.

"…_Torrrrrgattttt_," she wheezed, lolling her head around to fix him with an evil crimson eye.

Obediently he sheathed his daggers and stumped to his feet – one was considerably shorter than the other, thanks to being gnarled beyond repair in a wretched Telmarine bear trap. He approached the harpy slowly, eyes downcast.

Skua took a labored breath and hissed, "…I thirrrrrrrst…waterrrrrr…"

Without a murmur, the dwarf turned and stumped behind her perch, taking a dipper from a moldy bucket and bringing it around to offer to the pathetic creature. Skua suddenly flapped her wings and squawked, startling Tograt into stepping back a pace, but she greedily snatched the small metal ladle and slurped down the tepid liquid, throwing it at him when done.

"_Morrrrrre!_" she shrieked, hissing evilly, bloody spittle flying from her long sharp teeth.

The dwarf retrieved the ladle and silently filled it again, fulfilling the chore four more times before she was finally sated. Shortly thereafter, the harpy's head lolled forward and she slipped into a fitful doze, jerking uncontrollably in her sleep every so often.

Tograt took the opportunity to haul the water bucket from the cave and stump painfully around the hill, headed for the sluggish stream a few hundred yards away, muttering foul obscenities to himself as he went. The water was brackish, scummed with algae, but he filled his bucket full nevertheless, even splashing a bit of the tepid stuff across his black and grey hair, wetting his mangled beard in the process.

Life had not been kind to the miserable dwarf. But he'd not let it deter him; Tograt knew that eventually the insane harpy would outlive her usefulness to the old magic and he intended to be right there when it did. Thus, his obeisance for now.

As he stumped back towards the hill, his perpetually squinted eyes caught sight of movement just beyond the scraggly trees. A brutish head appeared, followed by the rest of the powerful body. The minotaur who'd brought the meal, Astayax.

Tograt snorted, demanding, "Why are you skulking around, Astayax? You've done your job; she's been fed and requires nothing else."

The minotaur shambled from the trees, its large body moving over the ground with surprising swiftness. He snorted, the sound much akin to a bull's bellow. "I serve the Power, dwarf," he rumbled, dipping his head in a show of aggression. "Not a mere bat on a stone."

Tograt snarled, putting down the bucket and snatching out his short but deadly blade. "Mind your tongue, bull-man, else I'll relieve you of it."

The minotaur did bellow this time, the sound nearly a roar but he stopped abruptly as a shrill shriek echoed from the cavern. Tograt frowned, sheathing his blade and retrieving his bucket, hurrying into the cavern. Astayax followed, having heard the summons as well.

Skua had woken from her slumber and was screeching and flapping about on her perch, clawed toes leaving runnels in the granite. She flailed, wings beating madly and sharp talons gouging her own flesh as mad eyes rolled.

"I _neeeeeeeed_ him!" she whined, craning her neck nearly backward, peering at her two servants from the mop of hair falling over her twisted face. "Bring him to meeeeeeee!"

Tograt, the water bucket forgotten, snarled and stumped over to pick up the things she'd strewn about in her wild flailing. "Calm yourself, Skua," he told her indifferently. "He'll be along in a few days or so."

Suddenly, Tograt choked as an invisible force grabbed his stubby body and slammed him against the wall, pinning him there immobile. Skua screamed, rising to her full height atop her perch and a backlash of power roiled around the cavern, setting the flames to roaring as she bellowed, her voice no longer that of an insane fiendish woman, but something far older, far more _powerful_, this was the voice of the ancient black magic itself.

"_Bring him to me! The traitorous Son of Adam! __**Now!!**_"

Skua's eyes began to glow, a frightful red that seemed to fill her entire face and eerie mocking laughter roiled around the room, setting the minotaur's fur on end. Turning back to the dwarf, Skua's face abruptly changed from maniacal to cold; she tilted her head just slightly and Tograt collapsed to the unforgiving dirt floor, wheezing in attempt to catch his breath.

Steam panted from Skua's chapped lips; even in the warmth of the underground the magic was _cold_. She stretched her wings to fullness, head lolling back as her hellish eyes rolled in her skull.

After a moment, she turned cold calculating eyes to Astayax, demanding in that cold hollow voice, "You will bring him here before me in two night's time, Astayax, else the penalty for failure will be torment for a thousand years."

She hissed at him, lips peeling back from yellowed fangs. A slab of tongue curled around one pointed fang as she cackled, the sound spine-chilling and evil. The harpy stared with eyes unseeing as the minotaur bowed and backed out of her presence hurriedly, nor did she notice the still gurgling black dwarf that slunk painfully away from the wall to crouch in abject misery behind a firegrate as he coughed and spluttered.

Skua just stared into the past - or perhaps the future - as she grinned insanely and crouched atop her perch once more, the ancient evil magic in her body swirling behind those mad, mad eyes. She began to croon, the unholy melody sharp and accentuated every so often with her desultory cackle.

After a few minutes of this madness, Skua looked up and gazed unseeing into the still-leaping flames. Her lips cracked in a gleeful grin as her eyes flashed red in the light.

"We have much to discuss, the lord and I..."

_To be continued..._


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: To my dear readers, many apologies for my absence. Life, work and other tribulations have squashed my muses flat and they are just now daring to lift their heads for fear of further trouble. But I have worked diligently to bring you chapter eleven and with my editor's permission, am posting it for you now.

I cannot promise when chapter twelve will arrive, but I am thankful that there is still interest in my humble offering in this fandom. Bless you all and thanks for the kind reviews. You guys are the greatest.

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"A_lan_dra…!"

The princess sighed and rolled her eyes again. "Yes, Melissande?" she asked, _trying_ to keep the exasperation from her voice.

"I think it's time to head back now," her sister answered from behind her, the two girls trekking their horses across the grassy field.

Alandra didn't answer right away; she just stared between Charger's large ears and ignored her whining sibling.

They'd been riding for a few hours; Melissande had so wanted _Caspian _to accompany her this afternoon, but both he and Tristan had been roped into council by the Telmarine lords along with Bornen and his advisors.

Thus, the Archduke had foisted off his sulking eldest daughter upon his youngest, giving them direction to amuse themselves for the nonce. Although Melissande had been heading into a tirade, she was a bit annoyed to have her audience summarily vanish in that Alandra had left her alone their guest quarters and headed downstairs to the stable.

The day was glorious; the sun warm and the skies crystalline blue. Alandra sat atop her large bay gelding, enjoying the gentle spring breeze. Charger and the princess had come to a rapport over the past week or so. She was considerably lighter than the Telmarines who had ridden him into battle; she smelled better and always brought a carrot or lump of sugar every time she came to see him. Thus, he always stepped nicely when she was atop his back, arching his neck and tail just so.

Alandra knew the large horse wanted a good gallop; the bunched muscles beneath her were coiled and just waiting to spring. But the dainty white mare upon which the elder princess rode would probably collapse after a mere mile's canter. Little Jewel, whom Donnon had earlier tried to give to Alandra, plodded along demurely, resolutely ignoring her fussing rider.

Although _any _well-brad lady knew the basic principles of horsemanship, Melissande privately felt that any sort of exercise that left one reeking of horse and covered in grime and dirt was one to be avoided at all costs. Nevertheless, she had suffered her childhood lessons with divine patience – at least in _her _opinion. So, she was competent atop the small mare, if not at _all _comfortable.

And her mulish sister was _again _proving stubborn! _Why _did they have to traipse across this awful empty plain? This entire campaign had been solely for the _king's _benefit, but he'd been spirited off by _state _affairs before she even got a word in. Melissande frowned. It wasn't to be _borne_! Nevertheless, there was naught she could do about it _now, _therefore she would just have to continue to cajole the oblivious Alandra into returning to the palace.

"We really should turn back," she tried again, thumping her heels against Jewel's sides to catch up with the long-strided bay.

Alandra shrugged, not turning, and Melissande heard her say, "Why? There's no reason to. Everyone's busy back at the castle."

Huffing a sigh, Melissande glowered a bit. Hn, perhaps another tact. "Alandra," she called, again jogging her horse, "we're out here without an escort and there's no telling what sort of brigands might be roaming around! The town's nearly five miles back!"

"Then go back if you want to. I doubt any sort of outlaws would dare venture into the Narnian woods, Melissande, so I'm quite sure we're perfectly safe."

Melissande scowled, clenching her hands on the reins. "I might do just that!" she fumed. "_Then_ what would you do, Miss Priss?"

Alandra smiled absently. "Keep riding, most likely. _I'm_ not afraid."

"I'm not afraid, either!" Melissande declared vehemently, savagely kicking her heels into Jewel's hide, making the horse snort and break into a shuffling gallop. Charger pricked his ears as the white mare cantered past, but Alandra kept a firm hold on the reins.

"Easy, my lovely," she told him. "They'll stop in a moment. We can catch up."

Her offhand remark to her sister had served its purpose, but Alandra couldn't help her giggles as she watched her sister attempt to regain her bruised dignity. Poor little Jewel was no doubt accustomed to having more experienced riders, or at the very least, keeping pace behind a more sedate horse. The white mare galloped dutifully enough but the lack of direction on Melissande's part no doubt baffled the poor creature.

Alandra fought her snarfles as Jewel wove through the grass, zigging and zagging at random. Melissande was used to the more docile horses of her father's stables, as well as perfectly tended riding paths that the animals knew blindfolded. This wide open space unnerved her, which in turn was communicated to her bewildered mount, causing Jewel to finally snort and slam to a halt, nearly toppling the spluttering princess from the saddle.

Melissande fought to regain her balance and Jewel immediately lowered her head to crop at the grass. She eyed her sister as Alandra trotted up, but thankfully the younger didn't deign to comment. Charger nickered at Jewel, who in turn lifted her head and obediently fell into line and followed after.

No more words were spoken as the two approached the woods. Charger didn't hesitate and neither did Jewel, toddling along behind, but Melissande couldn't help a bit of trepidation as they ventured into the trees. To her, the forest seemed vast and dark, laden with unfamiliar rustlings that seemed somehow sinister. The wind moaned through the branches, setting the treetops to sway. Shivering, Melissande pulled her cloak a bit tighter around her shoulders as she gazed around a bit hesitantly, wishing her stubborn sister would just _listen_!

Alandra, however, had no such worries. In her eyes, the forest was warm and welcoming; the sunlight glistened through the branches and drowned the canopy in golden light. The wind giggled through the leaves, and the trees themselves were still singing their gentle melodies, the harmonies deep and rich against her ears.

They eventually came to the glade she'd visited before and Alandra took a deep breath of the scent-rich air, closing her eyes with a soft smile. She dismounted and let Charger's reins loose, allowing him to graze on the sweet green grass.

Melissande looked around, a bit awed. "What is this place?" she breathed, slowly slipping from her saddle.

Alandra grinned. "This is Narnia. Isn't it beautiful?" She spread her arms and twirled in a circle, laughing delightedly. "I could stay right here and be happy forever!"

A familiar sound made her turn, eyes bright to see the same oak tree lumbering forward, as if to protect from intruders. Melissande uttered a little scream of fright and clutched close to her horse, but Alandra didn't once hesitate. She heard the familiar song and responded, humming along with the melody as it thrummed from the tree's core.

She met the mighty tree across the glade, stretching out her hand in welcome. An inquisitive tendril curled around her wrist and she laughed as it traveled up her arm and curled in her hair. The song changed, becoming more lilting and playful and she began to dance with it, swirling her skirts in time with the lovely music.

Two of the wood nymphs swirled from the trees, darting to the cavorting princess with high giggles of delight. They swirled around her, brushing their petaled hands against her cheeks and greeting her with strangely formal bows, to which she responded in kind.

"Hail, Majesty," one whispered as it swirled between her and the tree.

"Alandra has come!" the other declared, spinning high into the air and diving back down again.

They continued to frolic, a few more curious arboreal forms lumbering from their naps to investigate. Melissande watched wide-eyed as her sister cavorted with these beings, all of them she'd been brought up to believe weren't supposed to act thus. Trees weren't supposed to _move about_. Nor to _sing_. But they were; she could clearly hear their music reverberating through the air. Flowers weren't supposed to _dance_, but they were; the petals were twirling around and around, swirling through the air like ribbons of color.

Standing there, Melissande came to a shocking realization. _It was real_. The magic was _real._ For a brief moment, a bit of fear flashed in her blue eyes, but it was quickly banished as her sister turned back to her and beckoned happily. Still a bit wary, Melissande slowly released her saddle and walked forward, wondering just how much of a soak she'd need after returning to the castle.

Something brushed against her shoulder and she yelped, whirling around wide-eyed to see a sapling, barely as tall as she, extending a questioning branch and plucking at her sleeve. Melissande whimpered and backed away, nearly stumbling in her haste to avoid this _tree_. The little thing paused as if confused, but dutifully marched on, determined to inspect this creature which had invaded its forest.

Melissande bit her lip, _so_ wishing her sister would _do something_! This was _not_ dignified! In her haste to escape the curious sapling, she turned around again to hurry away but was brought up short by a large ash tree which had seemingly materialized behind the princess. Caught between the two arboreal beings, Melissande could do naught but yank her royal demeanor to the fore and attempt to drown out her fright.

Some yards away, Alandra paused in her frolicking to gaze at her sibling, who was staring defiantly up at a large tree. The ash extended a tendril towards the elder princess and gently brushed against her, withdrawing a moment, then yet another soft tendril curved towards her, then fell still.

Suddenly, the music stopped, the last notes cut off as if shut in a tomb. The trees fell deathly silent and the birds hushed their singing. The silence in the forest was deafening; the only sound in the clearing was the chill whisper of the breeze, ruffling the trembling grasses. Alandra watched in amazement as the trees moved away, back into the forest.

A bit concerned, she hurried to her sister, who was still standing immobile. "Melissande," she asked a bit breathlessly, "are you all right?"

The elder princess's eyes were abstracted, but she blinked and finally glanced at her sister, a frown creasing her brow. "I'm perfectly fine," she answered woodenly. "May we leave now? This place makes me ill." Without waiting for an assent, she turned and walked back to her horse, leaving a puzzled Alandra to slowly follow.

As they rode through the forest, Alandra was startled at the change; before the woods had been a place of wonder and magic, golden sunshine and warmth, but now, grayness covered the trees and silence reigned through the branches and paths. Gone were the laughing nymphs and the bright singing of the birds and trees; the horses made the only noise, the clinking of their harness and muffled sounds of hooves.

Melissande rode in the lead, adamant to _leave_ this wretched place and return to more familiar and comfortable surroundings, but Alandra couldn't help the feeling of melancholy that descended the further they rode. A deep sadness assailed her, making her heart ache.

Once out on the plain, both Alandra and Melissande pulled up short to see a strange sight. Centaurs were galloping from the woods, heading straight for them. Melissande screeched and tried to flee, but Alandra sat calmly atop Charger, knowing they meant little harm.

As they approached, the centaur in the lead halted his column and gazed at the two women, first Melissande then Alandra. She met his gaze fully, seeing that same flicker of recognition in this creature's eyes as she had his son's, Rainstone. In that instant, Alandra knew that this was Glenstorm, great centaur leader and warrior, friend to Caspian, King of Narnia.

"Hail, mighty Glenstorm," she offered quietly, breaking the silence, smiling to see a bit of surprise on the equine-featured face.

Glenstorm nodded, and, even as had his son, dipped into a bow, forehead nearly touching his knee. "Hail, Majesty. Your servant seeks to greet thee."

Alandra inclined her head, sitting a bit straighter in her saddle. "And ever do I allow thee, Honored One."

Alandra could feel Melissande's puzzled eyes on her, but she kept her attention to the centaurs as Glenstorm rose to his full height.

He nodded to her. "My son spoke of you, my lady. He said you have walked among the trees and they call you friend and Queen. Glad I am of your presence here in Narnia. Our land has waited long for you."

Knowing rather than to try to correct their misinterpretations, Alandra just nodded and smiled. "Glad I am to know your son. He is a fine centaur, and proud to call you father, Glenstorm." Recalling her manners, she gestured to her sister. "Melissande, my sister and soon-to-be Queen of Narnia."

Glenstorm turned to Melissande, who knew a royal introduction by heart, and regally inclined her head to the noble creature, all the while keeping her countenance from betraying her uncertainty. "…well met, Glenstorm," she finally replied, not really knowing protocol for speaking with a _horse_.

Pleasantries exchanged all around, then Glenstorm turned back to Alandra, saying, "We ride to Caspian's castle, Majesty. We have news from Cair Paravel and bring reports of other matters within the wood."

Alandra nearly lurched from her saddle at the mention of Cair Paravel. "Truly? Oh, how I have longed to see the castle of the Kings and Queens! Is it as marvelous as was written?"

Glenstorm chuckled at her enthusiasm as they strode along, then shook his head. "Sadly, lady, 'tis a bare memory of what once was. The Telmarines razed it to the ground during the first invasion. But glad I am that Caspian seeks to restore its glory to what once was. A heartfelt gesture for peace in Narnia once again."

The trek back to the castle was swift, for the centaurs moved with effortless grace through the tall grasses. Charger was delighted to finally break from a boring walk and canter across the plain. Jewel huffed and puffed but she kept pace nonetheless, much to Melissande's chagrin.

Caspian himself rushed out to the courtyard to greet his old friend, followed by his advisors and others who were still demanding a bit of the king's time. Tristan greeted his siblings, inquiring slyly as to the enjoyment of their outing. Alandra gushed happily, rattling off the centaur's names for her brother but Melissande just huffed and left poor Jewel to the stable hands as she hurried off upstairs.

The _nerve_! She was bedraggled, disheveled, rumpled and just entirely _uncomfortable_! And not _one_ of those _miscreants _noticed! Everyone had been so excited to see a bunch of damnable _horses_, and ignored her completely! She stormed to her quarters, slamming the door behind her and sending the maids scattering, but to their shock, the princess didn't so much as toss a single unbroken jewelry box. Instead, she stood against the door for a long moment, scowling into the distance as her cheeks bloomed with temper. She began to tremble, so angry was she.

The next morning, Donnon scratched his head as one of the Archenland servants galloped off, apparently on a task of the utmost importance. The maid's son carried very little, save for a rather important piece of parchment, folded and sealed within his saddlebag. It was stamped with Bornen's seal, the paper heavy and thick. But the very lightest breath of perfume clung to the paper, fragrances of lily and jasmine.

_My lord_, it read, _I regret to inform you that the situation here in Telmar has changed somewhat. Rather than the smooth transition you hoped for, I fear there might be a bit of a struggle when it time comes. For an unforeseen obstacle has presented itselfa in the most unlikely person. _

_"She" is proving to be most difficult, especially when it concerns the Narnians; I fear she is gaining their favor. The centaurs seem to regard __**her **__as their queen, never mind corrections to the contrary. And the king, I fear, is becoming dangerously affectionate towards her seeming innocence. But you may trust in me, my lord, for I shall rectify __**that **__small problem quite soon. _

_I urge you to come and assess the situation for yourself; I feel as though the plan should be accelerated in order to avoid any other problems that yet remain unforeseen. The sooner things are set into motion, the easier they will be to carry out. However, I desperately await your instruction, for I am, always, your loyal servant. _

And it was signed, in a flowing script, _"M". _


End file.
